


The Three Times That They Met

by AeonWing



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Angst, Blackmail, Boys Kissing, Falling In Love, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-05 01:26:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11567421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeonWing/pseuds/AeonWing
Summary: The Three Times That They MetOne plays in EU, the other in NA. So therefore the rest is irrelevant. Or so it seems.He never thought that their paths would cross this way, but come to think about it perhaps it really isn't all that surprising. They are the West's best hopes after all.3 Parter, Worlds, MSI, Rift Rivals*Read Notes*





	1. Worlds

**Author's Note:**

> This fic, and particularly the first chapter are inspired by an old friend of mine. Significant elements were borrowed. Thank you for allowing me to incorporate those very elements.

Søren had heard of G2’s mid laner. Of course, who hadn’t? North America or Europe, Korea or China, word of G2’s MSI flop was well known, and now all eyes were on the new kings of Europe to hopefully redeem themselves at Worlds. How much he knew unfortunately was limited to, once more, the word of mouth that Perkzz was too cocky for his ego. A rather old rhetoric that Søren had unfortunately heard far too many times. But aside from that, there wasn’t much more to say. G2 and TSM weren’t drawn into the same group. They both had more pressing matters to deal with.

So, needless to say, it surprised him a little the first time they really met, in the rather cramped elevator of their shared hotel. Who would’ve thought that a shared location for a Korean boot camp would yield such results.

“Bjergsen!” PerkZ beamed, his voice dripping with excitement and seemingly surprised at what appeared to be a chance encounter.

Hearing a wide range of accents was nothing new to Søren, but this one was particularly unique. The sweet tang of Croatian that Søren hadn’t quite gotten used to. Nice, and different indeed. If PerkZ was trying to grab his attention, he most definitely had succeeded.

“Nice to meet you,” he continued, holding out a hand. Søren smiled at that, merely returning the gesture. “Fan of yours.”

“Likewise,” Søren nodded, feeling the slightest shiver trace down his spine. Was it just his imagination? “PerkZ, right?”

It was almost a rhetorical question, but in that instant, Søren could see the boy’s face light up at the mention, like he had just been noticed by his senpai. In fact, perhaps it was _just that_. It brought a slight grin to Søren’s lips. In spite of being touted as the greatest Western player in existence, having admirers within the league itself never failed to feed his ego.

“Mhm. Wait…” PerkZ muttered back. “Likewise, as in nice to meet me, or as a fan?” He paused, the slightest hint of cockiness in his voice. “Or both?”

There was the banter Søren was looking for.

“Depends,” he murmured back. “Let’s see how you do in groups first.”

But before they could chat anymore, the elevator stopped, the sudden ringing alerting Søren that they had reached his floor, gesturing farewell. A brief encounter, and as he stepped out of the elevator, only the fleeting memory of the shiver down his spine remained.

That, and the fact that PerkZ had quite the charming voice.

 

* * *

 

 

The second time they met went considerably more eventfully.

A mere few days before worlds started, a mere few more days in Korea. Yet that wasn’t quite what was on his mind at this juncture. Søren stretched his arms, felt his stomach rumble with hunger, suppressing a yawn as the elevator doors flew open. Incidentally, his eye caught PerkZ nonchalantly standing only a few steps from him. He appeared calm enough, but his face masked the slightest hint of annoyance. It was cute, really.

“Hey again,” Søren greeted, nodding slightly. “What’s up?”

Once more, the boy’s face lit up in earnest.

 “Waiting,” he murmured. “Or I guess waiting in vain.”

For whom in particular probably wasn’t relevant. Could be a teammate. A friend. Probably didn’t matter. Søren chuckled at that, smiling at what appeared to be irritation from PerkZ. Something about the way the boy’s face flared up just a little when he was annoyed made him even cuter than before.

Søren paused, looking around. The lobby held no one he could recognize. Surely spending some time with G2’s midlaner couldn’t be so bad.

“How about I be your breakfast date for now then?” Søren asked, gesturing over to the canteen. The aroma of Westernized breakfast was a warm welcome. “If you want to join…”

His eyes scanned PerkZ’ for verification, who seemed to hesitate, as if deliberately for comedic effect.

Søren grinned. “Please?”

The boy pouted in return, playful and cheeky.

“Fiiiiiine.”

Søren scoffed at that.

“Because you’re hungry, or because you want company?”

PerkZ paused for a second, eyes shimmering with mischief. “Neither.” There was that trademark Cheshire grin on PerkZ’ face again.

“Then what?”

PerkZ laughed for a brief instant, before letting an arm fall over Soren’s shoulders. The sudden gesture made him blush, despite himself. It felt a lot cozier than he had imagined.

“I’ll tell you,” PerkZ replied, winking in exaggerated fashion, “but let’s see how _you_ do in groups first.”

That was a line Søren had heard before. Only last time, he was the one saying it instead.

“Fine,” he chuckled. “Let’s just eat then… _Luka_ , was it?”

“Why yes, my dear Sauren… Soyren?” Luka pulled a face, brows furrowed in exaggerated confusion. Søren couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “Soren? Did I say it right?”

The pronunciation was questionable at best. Søren had begrudgingly become used to it. No one besides Dennis had the decency to say it properly, so much that he just stopped caring.

“Søren.” He smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

Fast forward a mere week, and any and all expectations analysts, players, and fans alike had had been shattered. INTZ took down EDG in shocking fashion. CLG upset ROX. Yet the most prominent storyline was Europe’s disastrous run.

Søren couldn’t help but feel some sense of pity. Worlds was meant to be not just Europe’s defining moment, but G2’s shot at redemption. PerkZ’ shot at redemption. It was bittersweet, but it wasn’t as if TSM were having the time of their lives either. A 2-1 record in week one was by no means bad, but far from perfect.

He had a lot to think about, making it out of groups at the forefront of his mind. That is, until he was on this way out of the studio, spirits high, only to overhear what sounded like a low, accusatory sigh. It’s a sound he’s only too familiar with.

_“I don’t know what happened, okay?”_

The voice was faint, but instantly recognizable. Who else spoke with that sweet tang of a Croatian accent? Yet this time it was marred by a twisted sound of disappointment and exhaustion. Søren stopped in his tracks, eye scanning the door that was still tightly shut.

“Hey, you coming?” Vincent asked, almost a whisper.

“Give me a minute, I’ll catch up with everyone,” Søren responded, gesturing his support towards the exit. To his relief, Vincent didn’t press further. When he was finally out of earshot, he stepped closer to the door, almost close enough to press his ear against it.

He wouldn’t have needed to.

_“How the fuck did we lose to the wildcard of all teams?”_

The accent was foreign, and it wasn’t one Søren recognized. Authoritative and accusatory. Unmarred by exhaustion. Søren surmised that this must have been their coach, Youngbuck. He most certainly was unhappy.

_“We had no mid priority. Ever. Ask Luka what went wrong.”_

There was a familiarity this time. Like hearing an accent from a dream, a memory of days long past. It was a Danish accent, and it wasn’t one Søren would forget. This one must have been Zven.

In spite of the negative energy barred by that door, it was still stifling. Søren could feel his stomach churn with discomfort. Losing to Albus Nox Luna, the wildcard that was meant to bestow upon them a free win must have been a severe blow to their confidence and mentality. Competitors or not, rivals or not, this wasn’t something he would wish upon them.

And finally, came Luka’s choked cry.

_“I’m sorry.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Little did Søren know that they’d both share the same fate in the week to come. G2 had lost their fifth game in a row, only having won their last. TSM disappointed the world with a dismal 3-3 record, despite being projected by many as at least top 4. Disappointments from both sides. Who would’ve thought everything led them to the same place.

Time was running short. Neither team would meet anyone in quarters. Neither team would meet one another. It felt as if their journey ended as quickly as it had started, for tomorrow both teams would leave. The player lounge felt cold and empty, despite a few familiar faces here and there, and Søren found it increasingly difficult to focus his eyes on the screen, to continue watching the last of the group stages.

It would appear that Cloud 9 would be North America’s last and only hope.

How unfortunate.

In light of everything, it still stung nonetheless to not live up to his name. Not playing well enough, at least by his standards on the world stage was a blow to his confidence regardless of the outcome.

He sighed, closing his eyes for what felt like the first time forever. Søren didn’t want to continue watching. None of it mattered anymore. They weren’t advancing. They weren’t going to take on anyone anymore. They weren’t going to uphold the North American pride.

Yet by chance in the moment afterward, Søren let his eyes dart over to the entrance of the player lounge, the door ajar. It caught him by surprise when the person who passed by was Luka. And in that instant, the chatter of everyone in the room became indistinct, the commentary from the casters became background noise.

Luka returned the glance, yet there was the slightest hesitation, the slightest hint of pain. It made Søren uncomfortable.

Luka had been crying.

Their eyes met uncomfortably for a split second, before Luka turned away, and Søren couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Weldon had told him, along with the rest of his teammates, to stay away from social media for a few days.

Søren could only hope that Luka had done the same. Despite his best efforts to steer clear of the flame that inevitably awaited the both of them, he couldn’t even imagine how horrible it would be. Community hate was something he had avoided during the entirety of his career, but he had it seen how hard it impacted his teammates over the years.

They came and went.

And now only he remained. He could only hope he could say the same for Luka. Without a second thought, Søren took out his phone, glancing over at the last message between him and Luka.

 

(4 days ago) Søren Bjerg: _Hey, you alright?_

 

No response yet.

Søren let out another soft sigh, turning his attention back to the current and final game he’d be watching for a long, long time.

 

* * *

 

 

It was getting colder. Still fairly warm, but as October progressed, the temperature would only go one way. Quarters would start in a few days. The championship would go on like nothing had went wrong. TSM and G2’s failures would be forgotten, at least for a while.

Like a blip on a radar that no longer cared for them.

Yet none of that was on his mind at the moment. All he could do was look up at the sky as the dark orange faded more and more to black. Night was fast approaching, with their flight in merely a few hours. They’d be back in LA soon.

Back to some sense of normalcy, whatever that was for him.

“Hey,” spoke a voice from afar. It didn’t take Søren much time to recognize it.

“Hey,” he replied.

He turned around to meet Luka’s smiling visage. He looked like he was doing better now. Good for him. Søren returned the smile, nodding slightly as Luka joined him. Standing side by side, mere inches from one another to gaze at the evening sky.

“Tough month, huh?” Luka suddenly spoke, trademark Cheshire grin present again. “Hopefully Reddit wasn’t too mean to you.”

That caught Søren off guard. If there was someone he was worried about, it was Luka, not himself. Surely Luka knew that too. There was a certain spark in his eyes, a slight shift in the tone of how he said that that caused Søren to hesitate.

For a split second, he felt as if that was more than just playful banter. Despite the choice of words, there was some genuine sense of worry there, however silly it appeared. He still wasn’t sure what it meant, still wasn’t sure if Luka held anything more than platonic liking for him.

But maybe at least they could share a goodbye.

“Yeah, it’s been tough,” Søren nodded. “But I’d imagine it must be even worse for you. How are you holding up?”

He hadn’t expected Luka to smile at that. It was genuine, but at _what_ he was smiling at, Søren could not be certain. If Luka had been feigning some semblance of happiness before, then it was now most definitely sincere.

“Oh, concerned for me I see?” He laughed. “I trolled pretty hard, let’s be honest. I’m sure all of Europe hates me now…”

A joke, yet there was the slightest hint of bitter regret. No doubt someone like him would be dissatisfied with his performance.

“Lighten up man,” Søren replied. “Let’s be real, I played like shit too.”

“Not as bad as I did,” he giggled. The mood had definitely lightened as fast as it had darkened.

“Yeah, losing to the wildcard?” Søren clicked his tongue, feigning comical disapproval.

“Getting solo killed twice by Crown?” Perkzz retorted.

“Yeah, sucks huh?”

They both shared a laugh at that, before averting their gaze back to the sky, where night quickly approached. The number of minutes they had dwindled.

“Mhm…” Luka muttered. “Unlucky...”

“Well, it happens.”

There was a brief moment of silence, before Luka finally let out a soft sigh, turning his eyes back to Søren. It caught him by surprise, he hadn’t been expecting it. Such a closeup view of Luka’s eyes. They were beautiful and expressive, and Søren couldn’t help but feel his cheeks warm a little.

He hoped it wasn’t too obvious.

“So uh… Did you want to chill for a bit or something?” Luka asked, the nervousness in his voice unmistakable. “Or are you leaving…”

That was unfortunate. Søren bit his tongue, letting out a sigh of disappointment.

“Sorry… No can do. We’re leaving for LA in two hours.”

_“Oh.”_

Søren didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know how long it would be until they met again, or if that was even a feasible possibility.

“Well… I guess let’s hope we’ll see each other again,” said Luka.

“Let us hope indeed.”

To Søren’s surprise, Luka gallantly held out a hand, like he was offering a hug. It was a surprise, yet definitely not an unpleasant one. And so he took the boy in his arms. It wasn’t a very long one, yet regardless it carried weight, and was by no means half-hearted. Luka’s athletic frame radiated a homey sense of warmth; not the warmth from the heat, but the warmth from the comfort it carried.

It felt… strange. Not in a bad way, but strange nonetheless.

Maybe it was Luka’s calming scent. Maybe it was the strong arms that held him a little tighter than he had been expecting. Maybe it was the faint sensation of Luka’s heartbeat against his own. Perhaps it was all of that. It was incredibly familiar, something that Søren knew that he had felt before.

Yet whatever it was, it made Søren’s heart skip a beat in a way he hadn’t quite experienced before.

A few nights ago. What was so different? He had just been there to comfort Luka, right?

...Right?

Who knew how long next time would be.

Who knew if there would even be a next time.

But if there even was such thing as a next time, Søren was certain everything would continue as it had.

This most certainly wasn’t the end.

 


	2. MSI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back from the dead. Yes this story actually was going to be continued.  
> I'm so sorry for the uhhhh very long hiatus.
> 
> But, here, if you thought last chapter was too short with 2.5k words, I (hope) you'll enjoy the 13k word chapter I'm dumping here. 
> 
> Thanks for reading ^^

April 20th, 2017

Of course, “next time” came much faster than Søren had been expecting. But it would seem that in a matter of months, the story had been reversed. Or at least, part of it had been reversed. Just half a year ago, Søren was hearing accounts of the boy who was too cocky for his own good, who was brash beyond reason, who engages in pointless banter on twitter. Now he hears of the accounts of how resilient Luka is, how hard he works, and how dedicated he is to ensuring that the same mistake wouldn’t repeat itself.

G2 were once more the victors of the European LCS. Unsurprisingly, Søren had kept up his end of the bargain, earning TSM a spot at MSI.

It would seem that their paths would cross one more. Søren was never one to believe in fate, always one to believe that autonomy over one’s destiny was paramount. Yet perhaps he’d make an exception for this occurrence.

The paved road is a familiar sensation to his feet, but the climate of Rio is something that’s new to him. He couldn’t say that he particularly liked it, but on the other hand, warm summers were no longer foreign to him. There’s a certain element of excitement that’s coursing through his veins in spite of his fatigue from the flight.

Sure, he, along with the rest of TSM would play on the international stage once more to defend the pride of North America. Sure, he’d have another chance at personal glory as he’d take on the world’s greatest mid laners.

Yet another incentive was there, something that Søren hadn’t quite been expecting. He feels his lips curl into the makings of a smile, as his phone softly hums with the all too familiar ringtone. A delicate, soft melody, not so different from his default one. Just enough that Søren could tell the difference.

His eyes instinctively sweeps his surroundings for any prying eyes, before letting his fingers trickle to his sides where his phone buzzes softly again.

 

(Just now) Luka Perković: _Hey cutie :)_

(Just now) Luka Perković: _Arrived yet?_

 

If his facial expression read a smile before, it most definitely now reads a grin. Time seems to fly like an arrow. Sure, they’d texted occasionally back and forth after Worlds, even if there were several hours between responses. But it was almost as if both he and Luka had foreseen this. That they’d meet again, somewhere, somehow.

Looks like this time in Rio.

Søren shoots back a quick message, before tucking his phone back in his pocket. The air of Rio is warm, a little moist, but welcoming. The sky is a clear, beautiful shade of blue, hanging over vegetation and a plethora of buildings, some large, some small. Not scenery that Søren is either used to seeing, but one that is welcoming nonetheless.

There’s a lingering sense of uncertainty, one that isn’t necessarily a sign of weakness, but a sign of understanding. They may be on the world stage, but he, the rest of TSM, and by extension North America are not exempt from the pressures and eyes of the world. They are nonetheless required to fight their way into the group stage.

They’re required to fight their way past a wildcard. Of course, they’re projected to win, but after last year’s worlds, if there’s anything that Søren has learned, it’s that wins don’t come _nearly_ as easily as they do on domestic stage.

Everyone else is within arm’s reach, chatting about something, probably unrelated to gameplay, _hopefully_ unrelated to gameplay. There’s much more of that soon enough. Playing the game, playing _League of Legends_ as of late has really been what defines their lives. It’s bittersweet. Glory for personal time, for personal development. There are tradeoffs to everything, but even if the tradeoffs are great, Søren nonetheless feels that there is something missing.

Something that’s just not quite there, not quite satisfied by the hours poured into grinding League. Sure, everyone on the team are on good terms, friends even. Chatting with Dennis even reminds him a little bit of home, but of course, with so much on their hands, it’s difficult to bond over much, not even over fond memories of Denmark.

Perhaps he isn’t entirely aware of it. But he misses Luka.

 

His phone buzzes twice again, in quick succession.

 

(1 minute ago) Søren Bjerg: _Hey :) Yeah just now. Hbu?_

(Just now) Luka Perković: _Aha no. Just checking up on you. EU’s got no play-ins :)_

(Just now) Luka Perković: _Can’t wait to play vs you_

(Just now) Søren Bjerg: _If we win._

(Just now) Luka Perković: _Better be when you win._

Søren smiles ruefully at that, a tad disappointed that they hadn’t the opportunity last time at Worlds. That neither of them advanced past groups. Where both teams had been projected to leave their group strong- only to crash and burn.

He swore that it’d be different this time.

He had been giddy about the prospect of flying to Rio to play, sincerely hoping that their first international showing in Brazil wouldn’t end in failure. With the defeat at Worlds fresh in his mind, along with older wounds of what was 2015 MSI, Søren sincerely hoped that they could redeem themselves this time around.

Perhaps this time, he’d _really_ get a chance to meet Luka too.

He smiles, taking a deep breath, and finally resumes his steps.

 

* * *

 

 

“Three scrim blocks a day, I take it?” Vincent asks, chin casually resting on the heel of his palm; everyone listening in tow. The scrim room is generously sized, as is usual. Truth be told, Søren’s been in so many hotels- mostly as a result of traveling the world to play; he’s hardly surprised anymore. Riot pays good money for good hotels. That, at least, shows.

“Yes,” Parth answers, eyes casually flickering towards his painstakingly organized notes. “We honestly don’t have very many days to prepare. I would’ve wanted to come earlier, but…”

The room goes silent for a moment.

“Nothing can be done about it. We’ll have more scrim time after we beat whoever challenges us,” he continues. There’s not even a slight waver in his tone, not the slightest hesitation in the way he says it. The atmosphere in the room doesn’t change- everyone knows that they’re expected to not only beat the wildcard, but sweep them. It’s cocky, yes. But it’s a fact.

“ _If_ we beat them,” Søren mutters, half-intending to be audible. “I mean. We should be prepared nonetheless.”

The sting and disappointment of defeat is something he unfortunately knows all too well. He looks around, finding Jason’s reserved expression, Vincent’s uncertainty, Dennis’ semi-confidence, to Kevin’s overconfidence, if one could even call it that.

“We didn’t come to lose in play-ins,” Kevin responds, looking at his hands in the process. He isn’t concerned in the slightest. “Come on man, neither did you right?”

“Of course not.”

“Good,” says Parth. “As you know, you’re not under any obligation to play solo queue, but please keep your mechanics sharp. We didn’t come to lose. The last thing any of us want is to go back in groups.”

There’s a certain authority in the way he speaks that makes even Søren just the slightest bit uneasy. It’s not that he isn’t used to following orders. It’s much more so that he realizes that Parth is right- they didn’t come here to lose, and to a wildcard no less. But it’s also that losing on the international level hits hard, hits fast. He’s seen first and second hand what it means to disappoint on a stage of that magnitude. Naturally, as much as he resents it, thinking about losing here reminds him of Luka. What must he be thinking right now? Obviously, everyone wants to win. Everyone came here with the intention of nothing but _to win_ , but there must be something even stronger buried beneath that boy.

One doesn’t survive that much community hate and come back unchanged. If Søren could feel the pressure of international redemption as it is right now, Luka must be feeling it ten-fold.

_But only one of us can win. And it’s going to be me._

Adrenaline tampered by fear is coursing through him. Søren can’t help but feel relieved when his phone buzzes softly, revealing yet another message from Luka.

_Speak of the devil._

 

(Just now) Luka Perković: _So… you think we got time to meet up?_

Søren would have answered, if not for the eyes that are on him. He hastily shuts off his phone, forcing a slight smile and muttering a garbled apology. When Parth resumes talking, and Søren is certain that he can sneak in a quick text, he lets his eyes wander to the screen of the phone once more. He thinks of asking Parth, of asking management, but Søren knows better. They all do.

With what time they have left, he’d be hard pressed to find an excuse to leave the building for anything but food. But nonetheless, food still gave an excuse to chat. Surely all the teams were staying in the same hotel, so it wouldn’t be any different from Worlds, just months ago.

Søren runs a hand through his hair, letting out a soft sigh as a smile lights up his face once more.

 

(4 minutes ago) Luka Perković: _I know you’re busy and all… But you good for sightseeing? This ain’t America so you can’t call it boring :)_

(Just now) Søren Bjerg: _Was just about to suggest that. When is a good time for you?_

(Just now) Luka Perković: _I don’t know actually xD. Although probably after playins. So you better make it_

At least that was still a yes, even if it was the only “yes” that he’d be getting in a while. Definitely still better than he had been expecting, so he certainly wasn’t going to complain. Excitedly, Søren shoots back a quick message, half-aware that the general debriefing had been adjourned. He hastily turns his computer on, the familiar sound of the fans spinning filling the background as he turned his attention to the screen of his phone one last time.

 

(Just now) Søren Bjerg: _See you then :) Make sure to add me in solo q btw_

(Just now) Luka Perković: _Way ahead of you bud_

* * *

 

 

April 27th, 2017

Time goes by fast when playing video games. Before Søren realizes it, it’s been nearly a week of solo queue and he’s woken up in bed with a scowl on his face. Despite his best efforts, he’s just a hundred LP short of clinching challenger. To make matters worse, not only is the LAS server supposedly much easier, but with scrims starting, he wouldn’t have much time left. He barely had any sleep last night, and there were most certainly bags under his eyes.

He probably looks horrifying.

“Woah, you look awful dude,” Jason murmurs, eyes humorously wide at what was probably Søren’s uncouth scowl. “No sleep?”

“I’m fine,” Søren mutters, grumpily lumbering over to sit down before crossing his arms. “Who are we scrimming first?”

“Don’t you know?”

Søren realizes that he probably should know, that he was probably also told ahead of time. But unfortunately, he can’t quite piece together memories. Part of him regrets sleeping so late, but part of him is too tired to even care about that. He merely shakes his head, absentmindedly reaching for his phone.

“No?”

Jason answers with something, but by then Søren has stopped paying attention and instead has his eyes set on the screen of the phone once more. Parth has yet to enter the scrim room so he’s probably free to check social media without being scrutinized. There are notifications for email, Twitter, Twitch… and what appears to be an unread WhatsApp message. Curious, he takes a look.

 

(1 day ago) Luka Perkovic: _See you tomorrow on the rift :)_

At that moment, Parth walks in the room, suppressing a yawn. Everyone in all honesty seems too tired to actually play, if Søren is being honest, but he’s not one to complain. Be a bastion of positivity, he tells himself. Play the scrim with bags under his eyes, a wide little grin.

“Our first scrim is against G2.”

The words don’t register nearly as fast as there’s a familiar buzz once more. Luckily, his phone’s tucked between the fabric of his shirt and pants, and the sound it produces is far less obvious. Søren looks around, finding that no one caught attention of the rather conspicuous sound before glancing down towards the screen.

 

(Just now) Luka Perković: _Ready to lose?_

 

Half smiling, half yawning, Søren shoots back a quick message. That, at least, helps him wake up a little more. He’s reminded of the promise he’s made to himself; to beat G2, and to win MSI. Beating them in a scrim would be the first step to making a point.

After all, Luka is not the only one here for redemption.

 

(Just now) Søren Bjerg: _Right back at you_

 

TSM ends up winning the scrim by a narrow 2-1, winning out a final teamfight in part due to Trick getting caught out one too many times. The scrims go on for the whole working week, with the teams competing against each other in best-of-threes. Being played from the hotels that Riot had sponsored, each team would be lightly supervised by Riot staff, and thus TSM would find themselves playing mere rooms from other teams.

Every time they’re guided across corridors, Søren wonders if they would cross paths with the players from the other teams; when he had asked Luka about their game schedule, it appeared that scrim block scheduling was far from being on their side. Nevertheless, Søren manages to catch a glimpse of G2 on the third day, eyeing what appears to be their top laner and jungler. They’re conversing quietly in Korean, but even if Søren can’t understand it, it’s evident from gestures that they’re heading to their scrims. He thinks of dropping a quick greeting; surely they understood some English, but before he gets the chance to, Trick and Expect are long gone.

Biting his tongue, Søren can only hope that “sometime” for he and Luka comes soon, reminding himself that he too, has scrims in a few minutes. Søren hadn’t been keeping up with the play-ins, often scrimming or playing solo queue during the games. It would appear that their opponents would be GAM, a Vietnamese team that if he were completely honest, had not the slightest clue about.

It should faze him, really, as someone who understands that arrogance breeds defeat, but frankly, it wasn’t registering as much as it should have. They’ve been having great scrim results, losing primarily only to SKT (unsurprisingly) and winning against everyone else (not so surprisingly either). Thursday’s upcoming match seems like a mere stepping stone.

Søren’s lost track of time, and before he realizes it, there’s a hand on his shoulder. It catches him by surprise, and he spins around too quickly, almost losing his balance in the process. Dennis is facing him, half worried, half confused, entirely amused.

“Oh… What’s up Dennis?”

His face goes from confused to _really_ confused.

“Did you like, take a ten-minute piss or something? You’re about to be late for scrims.”

_Oh right._

Søren deliberates for a moment, before comically checking his phone just to make sure. Dennis is right. He’s been lost in his thoughts for minutes.

“Right.”

Dennis shakes his head.

“Come on, let’s go before Parth skins us.”

Not the most pleasant of punishments, Søren smiles, gesturing towards the scrim room to get Dennis to start walking. When Dennis stops paying attention, Søren finds the time to glance at his phone again. Wouldn’t hurt to drop one last message. Grinning, he clicks on the green icon with the phone, the chat bubble between Luka and him popping up.

 

(Just now) Søren Bjerg: _Don’t forget our sightseeing date :)_

 

* * *

 

 

May 3rd, 2017

When Luka wakes up, it’s still dark outside. In fact, it’s still _very_ dark outside. He’s puzzled for a moment, his eyes instinctively searching for his phone on the night table, in the process forgetting that there’s a lamp next to him. Groaning, he hastily flips the switch on, sleepy eyes sluggishly resting on the screen of his phone. There’s a blinking light, and he wonders for a second if Søren had messaged him, but first and foremost, he wants to know the time.

To his surprise, it’s five in the morning. Far from scrim time. Luka has an alarm set at nine, just so that he could wish Søren good luck for today’s match. How pointless now that he’s waken up four hours too early. Shrugging, he casually scrolls through the pile of notifications, disappointing filling him when he finds no recent messages.

Søren hadn’t messaged him as of late, he realizes. Frowning, he taps on the green bubble, tapping the night table impatiently as he waits for the phone to load the app.

 

(3 days ago) Søren Bjerg: _Don’t forget our sightseeing date :)_

(3 days ago) Luka Perkovic: _Date huh. What kind? ;)_

Luka hadn’t thought much of it, owing it to busy schedules and all, but he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that Søren hadn’t responded. He probably has reasons, Luka thinks, and quickly brushes it off, tucking his phone away. The sun is hours from rising, and he thinks of playing some solo queue, but LAS challenger at this time equates to hour queue times. No point.

They’re going to have scrims in a couple hours, of course, but the rush hasn’t hit him quite yet; for unlike TSM, they don’t have to go through the play-ins. Their first game is in a week, not too far away, yet not so close that it feels that urgent. Joey would say otherwise of course, but that’s his job. Surely, spending just a little bit of time outside the scrim room wouldn’t hurt.

He’s feeling a tad bit hungry and he’s certain that the hotel serves early morning breakfast, and so despite his fatigue, lazily reaches for his clothes, a towel, and heads into the shower stall. Before he knows it, the elevator doors fly open and he’s looking at the lobby of the hotel. There is indeed the faint scent of food, not too far from where he is, making his stomach growl again, but also reminding him of events not too long ago.

Sitting in the lobby during Worlds, waiting for Jesper, only to be joined by an unexpected- but welcome someone else instead. Søren. It wasn’t so much the food that kept him comfort, but Søren’s presence. He hadn’t much opportunity to interact with him after all, most of him remaining a mystery, despite his outlandishly- yet startling good looks.

Charismatic, cute, and slightly, but not too confident.

That’s how Luka would describe his impression of Søren.

He thinks again of their planned sightseeing “date”, or whatever it’s supposed to be. It’s become apparent that unless TSM beats GAM, their “date” won’t be happening. Luka understands, he really does. Winning first, everything else becomes secondary. It’s logical, it’s valid. With their conflicting scrim schedules and so much on the line, even the idea of finding time outside of league was a luxury.

Frowning, Luka stifles a yawn, resisting the urge to stretch his limbs. He’s in public, and even though it’s honestly not a big deal, not to mention that the security guard is probably half-asleep staring at the cameras anyways- it’s nonetheless a little embarrassing. Quiet steps lead him closer and closer to the scent of food, which is growing stronger and stronger. Bacon, sausage, something that smells like burnt toast? Luka grimaces at that, face pulling into a frown, but a few more steps and he can smell freshly brewed coffee from the cafeteria.

Now he’s _really_ hungry.

Grinning, he excitedly takes the breakfast tray at the start of the line, and by the time he’s done getting food, paying with whatever little cash he’s been given, searches for a seat. It’s arbitrary, he realizes, considering no one eats around this time. To his unbeknownst, he’s not alone. Søren is there, alone, twirling his fork in what appears to be scrambled eggs, probably cold. He looks a little upset.

Luka pauses for a second, wondering if he should just leave the man to his thoughts or perhaps just sit down across from him. It’s been a few days since they’ve texted, even longer since they’ve spoken face to face, save for those few seconds they had when they were lucky enough to cross paths. It’s evident that the Dane is currently too engrossed in his thoughts however, to notice the normally puckish boy. 

“Hey,” Luka murmurs, slightly raising a hand to catch Søren’s attention.

When Søren looks up, there’s a flash of excitement and a bit of surprise on his face, some life and zeal returning to him. There’s that devilishly attractive smile and charm in his eyes that causes heat to enter Luka’s cheeks. Then it all goes blank and the Dane is back to brooding again.

It was there, for just a split second.

Luka wants to say something, but to his surprise, there are no words. He’s not sure what it is, why it is that he can’t find the words to speak. First instinct tells him to ask Søren what’s wrong. But it just doesn’t come out and he’s left awkwardly gawking at the Dane, who appears just as perturbed.

“Hey,” Søren finally replies, manufactured grin plastering his pale visage. It’s fake, that much is obvious, but at the very least, it makes Luka feel comfortable speaking again.

“You look happy,” he sarcastically comments, clicking his tongue in comical disapproval. Søren doesn’t respond, but does laugh a little, taking the first bite in what must have been minutes. Luka was right; judging from the Dane’s expression upon taking the bite, the eggs must be cold now.

Luka gestures to ask if he can sit down, to which Søren gives a subtle nod, moving his phone and backpack out of the way to make room. Luka grins at that, sitting down with his tray of food.

A couple forkfuls of food later, Luka finally asks “You okay?” Eyes comically wide as he takes a sip of coffee. “Worried for today’s game?”

“A bit,” Søren murmurs back, frowning as he finishes the last bite of cold egg.

“Relax man,” Luka replies, biting his tongue when he finds himself wishing that he could have said something more genuine and less cliché. When Søren’s expression doesn’t change, he adds “Hey, I believe in you. Best midlaner in the west, huh?”

The mention of that, although somewhat half-hearted, somewhat genuine, does cause Søren to _really_ smile this time though. Luka pauses, apparently pleased with himself. That, at least, cheered the Dane up.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Søren mumbles, after he finishes chugging his glass of water. “Just gotta hope it’s a reality.”

“Doubting yourself?” Luka comments, an eyebrow raised in surprise. “Not like you. Now I’m definitely certain you’re not feeling well.” It’s meant to be banter, but there is some truth to it, as Luka quickly realizes.

Søren lets out an exasperated sigh. “Yeah, I guess… I was just thinking you know, about last year’s worlds.” He finishes.

The mention of that, although innocent and benign enough, causes a twinge of discomfort. Luka shifts uncomfortably, gently setting his fork down. Last year’s worlds, along with last year’s MSI, are not events that Luka is particularly fond of. Although he says he’s stronger now, that he’s tougher now, the truth is that the memories of defeat- and humiliation, still sting like a fresh wound. When he glances over at Søren, he realizes that that makes two of them.

“Not the best time of our lives, huh,” he murmurs, absent-mindedly playing with the few pieces of sausage on his plate. “But this is just the play-ins for you.”

“I know, I know,” Søren says, almost a little too quickly; he had expected that. “I wasn’t really thinking of that. Well I guess I was, but it wasn’t the only thing. Like, yeah I’m pretty confident we’ll beat GAM, even if it would be a lie if I said it didn’t worry me…”

He’s rambling, and Luka swallows a lump in his throat. There’s more on his mind, that much is obvious. Combing his hair with the palm of his hand, the words escaping him as fast as he thinks of them. Several moments of awkward silence pass, and Luka can only wonder what exactly it is that Søren is thinking of right now. He wishes that he could know, that he would know, but unfortunately, asking feels out of the question.

“Just think about it later,” Luka finally says, clearing his throat. He’s not sure what it is exactly that’s bothering Søren so much, but at least he can try to help. “You know, after you win.”

“Yeah…” Søren stares at him, “I just… I was wondering,” he pauses, shooting Luka a hesitant glance. “Last year...” He looks down at his empty plate, and the final words are so low and mumbled that Luka couldn’t catch them.

“It’s fine,” he quickly replies. “Remember?”

“Hmm?”

Luka grins, clicking his tongue. “Forgotten already? We promised to go sightseeing,” he laughs. Leaning back in his seat comfortably. “Can’t go if you don’t win.”

Søren giggles at that, nodding in earnest. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” His expression softens, grimace replaced by charm and confidence once more. If there’s something Luka’s grateful for right now, it’s Søren’s willingness to let the awkwardness subside. “We’ll win today. I can guarantee you that.”

“Good boy,” Luka says teasingly.

Søren makes some incoherent vocalization in response, rolling his eyes. At the same time, his phone buzzes, and upon taking a look, frowns. Looks like time’s up.

“Gotta get back?” Luka asks, shoving the last of the eggs and sausage into his mouth.

“Yeah,” he answers, before letting his arms fall back down on the table. “Parth’s got some pre-game speech or something.”

“Fun,” Luka adds, glancing at his phone to check the time. Almost seven. He should be getting back soon as well.

“Yeah, totally,” Søren sarcastically responds, letting his head drop back, far enough to stare at the ceiling, before sitting back upright. There’s a brief moment of lag, as if time slows to a crawl as Søren’s chocolate depths rest on Luka’s.  “Hey, thanks though,” he mentions, and for a split second, Luka can swear there’s the slightest shade of pink in the boy’s cheeks.

He feels his chest tighten.

It’s not for another few seconds that he realizes how close their hands are. Søren probably hadn’t intended it. Luka most certainly hadn’t. Their eyes lock briefly for a moment, and Søren’s smile drops- but not in a bad way. There’s a moment of hesitation, but Luka’s feeling a little brave, letting his hands move just a _tiny_ bit. But to his surprise, Søren meets him halfway. Or so he thinks. It all happened so fast, he can’t be sure. All he knows is that he’s awkwardly touching Søren’s hand, their gazes in an equally awkward lock.

There’s a sudden footstep and as if it never happened, Søren stands up, doing what seems like the fakest cough Luka’s ever heard.

Although his heart is hammering in his chest, Luka smiles anyways.

“So, I guess I’ll see you around?” He says cheerily, as Søren turns around to leave.

The Dane stops in his tracks. He doesn’t fully turn around, but his tone is genuine enough. “Yeah. See you,” before resuming his steps, leaving a certain mischievous Croat a little too satisfied with himself.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s do or die now.

It all either ends here or they have a brief respite until they take on the strongest of the world. Tensions are running high for everyone. No one had expected this outcome.

They’ve been pushed to a five-game series vs GAM. Far from what anyone had thought of. Certainly, far from what Søren had thought would happen. Part of him feels that this their overconfidence may very well become their undoing. Part of him understands what losing here means for NA.

Part of him wonders what losing here would look like to Luka. And part of him certainly wonders what Luka must be thinking right now. Is he watching? Praying for NA’s victory? Søren won’t know. Not in time for the fifth, and final game.

Before they return on the stage for the last time, Søren throws glances over at each of his teammates. Tension is plastered on everyone’s faces, and he can hear the individual breaths that leave their lips. It’s a little frightening, to see everyone on the edge, but no one can help it. Everyone is tense. Do or die. Perhaps not literally, but it might as well be. Søren can feel his hart hammering in his chest when he’s finally ushered onto stage, in front of the roars of thousands of fans. He’s never been this nervous. There is so much on the line.

Andy gives them all a stern nod and a forced smile and that is it. Søren goes first, then the rest of them follow suite.

 

* * *

 

 

“Close games, huh?” Is the first thing Søren hears from someone other than his team, when he finds a seat in the player lounge, away from the tense air of their scrim room. To his surprise (or perhaps not), it’s Luka who says it.

Søren smiles back, almost reflexively, raising an eyebrow at the Croat, who almost too comfortably finds a seat right next to him. Good thing. He is feeling good and can barely keep the smile off his face. There really isn’t any need to anyways.

“Nice interview by the way,” Luka adds, throwing a glance in the direction of the backstage, where Søren had just been interviewed by Sjokz. Of course, pretty much anyone can hear it if they’re close enough. “Real cute.”

Søren merely scoffs at that. Luka seems more concerned with the interview than with the rather nail-biting five-game ordeal that Søren had just endured. As if he had the utmost faith that Søren would pull through in the end. Typical Luka. It’s a little silly, but nonetheless cute and Søren can’t help but blush at the way Luka grins widely at him.

“Yeah, totally,” Søren finally replies, dryly laughing at the comment. “You watched huh?”

Luka rolls his eyes.

“Why of course.”

“Man we were shit,” Søren adds, shaking his head. It feels good to win, no question. But not win like _that_. That was embarrassing no matter how he looks at it. “We trolled pretty fucking hard. Or maybe GAM were just good.”

“Getting cocky?” Luka remarks. It’s playful of course, but he nonetheless takes his phone out to show what seemed to be a rather humorous- or perhaps, overconfident twitter post from Kevin. It’s meant to be playful of course. “Well, it seems your top laner had other thoughts.”

Typical Kevin.

Søren merely shakes his head in comical disapproval, before letting his eyes rest once more on the slightly too happy and amused Croat.

They had just chatted hours ago, in the hotel café. It feels like a lifetime ago though, after that grueling series. But it does remind him nonetheless; they made it. They have more games to play, more scrims, more solo queue, vod review, you name it.

But they made it.

“But hey, we made it,” Søren murmurs. “Remember our date?” He asks, to which Luka rolls his eyes comically again.

“You didn’t answer me,” he clicks his tongue, showing Søren the chat bubble as proof. “What kind of date cutie?”

Although that was meant to be playful banter, it nonetheless causes the familiar sensation of heat to enter his cheeks. Søren shuffles awkwardly in his seat, laughing uncomfortably at the remark. But Luka is right. He doesn’t respond.

Picking himself back up, he finally replies “What kind of date do _you_ want it to be?”  To which Luka doubles over in laughter. His mischievous grin doesn’t recede, nor does the redness of his face.

“Tell you what, meet me at the hotel café Sunday night,” Luka says, wholeheartedly dodging the question- to which Søren smiles ruefully at. He hadn’t expected a real answer anyways. “We’ll go sightseeing then. You don’t do night blocks on Sunday do you?”

Søren nods in approval. “No, we don’t,” he says. “Now this time it’s you who didn’t answer my question,” he cheekily adds.

Luka shakes his head in response to that, finding cliché relief when Zven calls out his name from the entrance, gesturing him that it’s time to leave. Luka raises both eyebrows, forcing a slight smile, and gets up; all of this a little too fast. He seems almost too happy to leave, even if it’s half faked.

“See you then,” is all he says, as his steps lead him out the player lounge.

When he’s gone, Zven shoots Søren a confused look, to which Søren responds with an equally perturbed shrug. Nonetheless, he’s alone now. Sunday. That’s the seventh, Søren notes, glancing at his phone calendar. They do have time on Sunday night. He can only hope that it won’t be too late when they come back.

But, still, he said yes. That’s what counts.

Right?

 

* * *

 

 

October 2nd, 2016

_(Just now) Søren Bjerg:_ Hey, you alright?

 

_It’s been days since they’ve last spoken. Of course, there was no mystery nor surprise to why that is. Despite G2’s fate effectively being sealed and TSM having their hands tied, tensions are still running high._

_Luka’s sitting on the bed, lost in his thoughts, sleepless, staring at the phone screen for what has felt like years. The blanket is wounded tightly around him, but he can’t seem to derive any comfort from it, all the while the light from the screen glares at him. Wanting to reply, but being unable to, he questions his sanity, asking himself why he’s doing this, why he’s so worked up when they’ve effectively been eliminated from Worlds already._

_Of course, he finds no answer, no respite to the chaos._

_Luka wonders if he should tell Søren of how he’s feeling. Even if they’ve only met face to face weeks ago, he feels like there’s no one else to turn to; all the while the screen shines bright in his face. It sounds so unreasonable, it almost makes him laugh._

_It almost makes him feel better knowing that he won’t have to face Søren after such a humiliating defeat._

_He didn’t think that this would occur, of course, none of them did. Luka was so certain that this would be their redemption; their way of repaying their fans, and by extension, all of EU, after the spectacle that was MSI. Unfortunately, that could not have been further from the truth, and it hurt to think about it again._

_He lets out a sigh running a hand through his hair, his eyes, red from crying, still locked on the screen. He realizes that it’s now or never; they’re not making it out of groups. They’re out of time, and that also means that it won’t be for another, who knows how long, until he sees Søren again._

_He can hear, can feel each breath that leaves his lips, his thumb unmoving, resting on the keyboard of the phone. What should he say? What can he say? He knows that he should reply, but with what exactly? He could just ignore it, but what would that do?_

_Shaking, he moves his thumb to the I, ready to respond, somehow. Yet in that exact moment, the green light next to Søren’s profile shuts to grey- he’s now offline._

_Luka closes his eyes._

_Defeat. That’s what it feels like. Yes, he’s got tomorrow, and maybe a little more than that, if he’s looking at it logically. But for some reason, he doesn’t feel like he has the will to try again. He doesn’t want to go out, he doesn’t want to play League anymore._

_The walls of the hotel room, miles and miles away from home feel like a prison, made to contain him, but even_ that _feels better than going back on that damned stage to face everyone. To face the audience that he knows he’s disappointed. Even_ that _is better than having to face Søren._

_His mind is somewhere between racing and accepting defeat, each sleepless night eating away at his sanity more and more. His back is against the wall, literally and metaphorically, desperately searching for some reprieve._

_Little does he know that it was mere moments from then._

_There’s a soft knock on the door._

_It causes his heart to skip a beat, and this time, it’s not illogical, it’s not irrational. It’s nearly 2 AM, there’s really no reason for anyone, besides a teammate or coaching staff to do that. And even then, it’s incredibly unlikely. That, he knows. That, he can piece together rationally._

_Cautiously, he steps away from the bed, wondering if he should answer._

_A second knock comes, and a rush of impulse takes over this time. Luka takes quiet steps towards the door, wiping away the remaining tears that mar his face. He doesn’t know what to expect;_ who _to expect._ _Everything seems surreal as it seems impossible._

_But when the third knock comes, he’s finally at the door, carefully looking through the peephole of the hotel door._

_His chest tightens, and he isn’t sure if he should be relieved or shocked._

_It’s Søren._

 

* * *

 

May 7th, 2017

Sunday morning comes too fast, and Søren finds himself waking up to the growl of his stomach once more. It had been fairly early when he had gone to bed, so it’s still dark outside right now. Yawning, he quickly gathered his clothes, steps into the shower stall, getting ready for yet another day of scrims. And yet another day of abnormality- For tonight he’s seeing Luka.

He smiles fondly at that, a shiver of excitement tracing its way down his spine when he realizes that this will be the second time that he’s _really_ going to have personal time with Luka.

Søren shoots a last glance at his phone, before turning the hot water on.

Tonight would be good.

 

(7 hours ago) Luka Perković: _Don’t forget tomorrow cutie :)_

(7 hours ago) Søren Bjerg _: How could I? Miss you :)_

 

As the morning went by, his teammates emerged on by one from their rooms. Most of them had slept in late, and it was 11 AM when they finally got together to do some theory crafting and assessing of strengths and weaknesses of the other teams. Riot had predicted Flash Wolves and GAM as the two teams to drop out of the group, but after a close, 3-2 series against GAM, Søren wasn’t so sure anymore. Nonetheless, a good discussion was enough to raise everyone’s concentration levels and the team felt fairly confident when they finally scattered. They would not play a night block today, something that for once Søren felt relieved to hear.

He has other plans tonight.

 

(Just now) Søren Bjerg: _Join me for dinner?_

(Just now) Luka Perković: _Why of course, m’lord_

 

Unfortunately, his unusually large amount of time spent on his phone has caught the attention of his teammates.

“Guys, Søren has a date!” Kevin and Dennis chant playfully as Søren prepares to leave for what doesn’t look like an ordinary dinner. In response, Søren rolls his eyes- but doesn’t deny it.

“You guys are stupid,” he grins, winking and turning his attention to ensuring that he has everything. He won’t be back for a while.

A spray of cologne later, and he’s walking out the door in a TSM jacket, adrenaline coursing through his veins at the prospect of seeing Luka again.

When he strolls into the café, he looks around, searching for a place to sit. The café has a decent amount of people on a Sunday night, surely making it less awkward. Søren sits down, tray of food in tow, making sure not to eat too much.

He had a good idea of what their “sightseeing” date might encompass.

Before long, there’s a familiar face a few feet from him. He looks up to meet Luka’s gaze, his lips immediately curling into a smile, ignoring the sudden ball of nervousness in his gut.

“Yo,” he greets, putting down his fork to gesture Luka to sit down.

His eyes rest on the Croat, who turns around to say something to Zven; inaudible. Zven makes a strange face, but there’s no surprise- it looks like they all know about their sightseeing “date”. That’s reassuring, at least.

“Hurry up, eat your dinner so we can go,” Luka whines, pouting when he sees that Søren still has a whiles to go, to which Søren rolls his eyes, lazily shoving the piece of meatloaf in his mouth.

Nonetheless, Luka sits down to eat his salad, turning his attention to his phone while Søren continues to eat; albeit at an accelerated pace. They’re both excited to leave.

Suddenly, something catches Luka’s attention, and he glances up, over Søren’s head. Judging from his expression, he must have some idea. Søren turns around by instinct, his eyes resting on the tall Dane that was Zven, who responds back to Luka with yet another perturbed expression.

“What’s up?” He asks, while gesturing to Mithy to find a table.

“Take a picture of us!” Luka says cheerily, excitedly jumping out his seat, resting his hands on Søren’s shoulders, a goofy grin on his face when Zven rolls his eyes, but obliges. Without needing to ask, Zven takes Luka’s phone, trying to find the best angle.

Søren at first is perturbed, taken aback even. There’s excitement and unease in his bones at feeling Luka’s hands on him; even through clothes. He knows this is completely normal, they’re just taking a picture in a very, _very_ public location. It doesn’t look unusual at all.

But Zven’s finally found a good angle, so Søren swallows the lump in his throat, trying his goofiest expression when the tall Dane’s finger taps the screen. He can’t tell if he feels relieved or disappointed when Luka’s hands recede from his shoulders to grab his phone.

“How do we look?” he asks when Luka takes a gaze at the picture.

“Goofy. Cute. Whatever,” Luka says, showing him the photo. It does indeed look silly, but Søren blushes nonetheless. Was he imagining it?  He hopes that it doesn’t look too obvious, but when his eyes scan the Croat, he decides that he’s probably concealed it well; for now at least.

“Can I have that picture too?” He asks, raising an eyebrow when he tilts his head to get a better view of the image. Luka rolls his eyes, but nevertheless sends the picture to Søren. Lazily tapping the Instagram icon, he quickly posted the new picture.

 

_“EU Bjergsen and NA Perkz :)”_

 

There’s a soft buzz from Luka’s phone who shoots Søren a thumbs up and grin- he’s received the notification.

Several minutes and forkfuls of food later, Søren’s finally done eating, and ready to leave.

Swallowing a gulp of water, Luka turns his gaze towards Søren, raising an eyebrow when Søren’s depths meet his own.

“Ready?”

There’s a certain charm in the way he smiles, in the way he speaks that causes Søren to become speechless for a moment. It doesn’t help that Luka’s sitting adjacent to him this time. He grimaces for a split second, wondering how much trouble tonight would really be.

Whatever. It would be worth it.

“Ready.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You never intended for this to be an actual sightseeing date, did you” Søren shakes his head, walking slowly towards the next bus station. “We’re going drinking? And partying?”

To which Luka laughs heartily.

“Hey, I was going to ask last time, in America,” Luka says. “Why is the drinking age 21 there?”

Søren shrugs. “It’s 18 in Denmark. And I guess it’s 18 here too. Aren’t you in luck.”

Despite the rather sinful and borderline irresponsible nature of it, Søren doesn’t refuse; he’s been wanting to drink for a while. So long as he doesn’t overdo it, he won’t be yelled at; they do have the night off, after all.

“Call me a liar, but did you really think we’d be going sightseeing?” Luka laughs, resting an arm over Søren’s shoulders. “We’d need hours for that.”

Søren deliberates for a moment, almost comically, before smirking back.

“No, not really,” he says, before adding “So, if it’s not a sightseeing date, then what kind?”

Luka doesn’t respond immediately. In fact, it’s not only about another minute of walking that he finally says something. Long enough that Søren’s almost lost track of what’s happening.

“You’ll decide, soon enough,” he grins.

 A bus ride, awkward confrontation with the bar bouncer in broken English, and several drinks later, Søren finds himself on the dance floor amidst a mass of sweaty bodies moving to the beat of a Portuguese song. He’s never been much of a dancer, but the alcohol must be getting to him. He still feels some semblance of control, but reconsiders when he can’t help but find himself moving, albeit awkwardly- to the music.

To his chagrin, or perhaps relief, Luka is no better at dancing, and even worse at tolerating the alcohol that must be coursing through his veins now. His face is flushed a light pink, only visible when the lights flash over his face. Time is flying, and before Søren realizes it, it’s almost late night.

When Luka trips over his feet, Søren barely manages to catch him, laughing at what appears to be his increasing disorientation and dizziness.

“Drunk?” Søren asks, raising an eyebrow, when Luka threatens to trip again, the brunt of the Croat’s weight against his thin arm. “You really should know your limit.”

Luka merely shakes his head, a moment of stupor on his face when he seemingly regains balance. He says something inaudible, but his expression doesn’t change. They’re both quite drunk at this point MSI’s group stage a distant thought. They have tonight to enjoy, after all. Minutes of dancing later, the side effects of the alcohol are kicking in, and Søren needs to use the washroom. Gesturing to Luka, he leaves the dance floor, tiptoeing to the men’s room. When he’s done and returns to the dance floor, he realizes that Luka’s no longer there.

There’s a moment of panic, but he momentarily regains calm; eyes scanning the dark room for a certain cute Croat. When he takes a few steps forward, he finally catches glimpse of Luka; sitting at the bar. There’s a girl chatting him up, and Søren can’t quite tell what it is that he feels in that exact moment. Søren feels a pang of unease when she says something again; completely inaudible, but Luka’s eyes suddenly widen when she says something in frustration. When she sits down next to him, the unease quickly becomes something else. Anger? Jealousy? Confusion? Whatever it is, he can’t quite sort it out.

Hastily, he makes his way over to the midlaner, who seems all too unhappy with the situation at hand.

“Luka?” Søren asks, struggling to keep his voice calm. “Are you alright?”

To which Luka’s expression lights up, as if revived from the dead.

“Ah, I was just… Listen, can I talk to you for a bit?” Luka asks, briefly letting his eyes dart in the direction of the girl, who’s growing increasingly impatient by the second.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Luka wants to get rid of her; Søren much too happily obliges. He sits down adjacent, leaving Luka sandwiched between them, but all of his attention has been turned away from her and given to Søren.

“What’s up?” Søren asks.

Luka says something; probably arbitrary. It doesn’t matter, none of it is really reaching his ears. Søren’s too concerned with getting her to leave. They trade glances, and there’s an unmistakable hostility in the way she stares at him. Even her attention has been diverted from Luka.

Søren shuffles uncomfortably under her steely gaze. She’s undeniably pretty, almost dangerously so, but he doesn’t let up. She has something to say, that’s for sure.

What could have happened?

“Luka?” He asks again.

Finally, she gives up, turning her back on them.

 

But not before she says “Faggots”.

 

 _Shock_.

 

That’s the fist, and strongest emotion that he feels. He’s heard that thrown around on the Internet far too much. But if Søren was to be completely honest with himself, he couldn’t remember the last time he’s heard that in person. He sits still, eyes comically wide at what had just transpired, at what had just been said. Her gaze is still steel, unchanging as she melds back into the crowd on the dance floor.

His chest tightens, suddenly feeling unreasonably angry. Where did that come from? What had happened? What gave her the incentive- or the right, to say something like that? Søren’s never been uncomfortable with his sexual orientation.

Not at least, until now.

“Luka?” He asks yet another time, voice hoarse.

He looks at Luka, who looks mortified. As if he’s about to cry. The Croat has his gaze averted to the floor in shame. He’s breathing hard, looking as if he’s trying to find the words to speak, something that normally came so easily to him; only to find failure each time.

“Luka, what happened?” Søren asks again, this time with a touch of anger.

He hadn’t intended to sound that harsh, and there’s a flicker of fear across the boy’s face when he finally finds the courage to answer Søren’s severity.

“Nothing… I just said I came with you,” he says sheepily, rubbing his eyes. “I mean… I…”

He doesn’t say anymore, his mouth a hard line.

“That’s it?”

“Søren…I” he begins, breath hitching. “Do you remember what happened last time?

“Last time?”

To which Luka looks away. “At worlds. When you came over that night.”

Søren sighs. How could he forget?

 

 

* * *

 

October 2nd, 2016

_The door swung open, and despite Søren’s immediate attempt to console the boy before him, Luka shrunk back, turning away when Søren awkwardly closed the door behind them._

_“Luka? Are you alright?” Søren nervously asked, brows furrowing when the Croat wiped away another film of tears that threatened to fall. “You didn’t reply. I tried asking your team manager earlier but he said that you weren’t in any mood to talk.”_

_He immediately regretted asking that. It sounded incredibly cliché. Of course, Luka was feeling like shit. They had just lost to the wildcard. Effectively kicked out of groups, effectively locked out of redemption._

_“Why did you come?” Luka asked._

_An arbitrary question. It sounded incredibly silly, but nonetheless he responded. “Well, I was just worried.”_

_Although he intended it to sound genuine, he realized only now that it must have sounded equally lame and equally unhelpful._

_So, he tried another approach. “Luka, I,” he began, but didn’t get that far._

_Because in the next moment, Luka had his arms around him. Out of desperation for someone to be there. Out of pure instinct. He probably hadn’t even realized what he was doing, sobbing into Søren’s chest, incoherent words._

_There’s a brief overture of shock and surprise- before leading into warmth and comfort._

_It felt right. Even if he was just trying to comfort Luka, it felt right._

 

* * *

 

“Yes,” he finally says. “But, what… what does that have to do with anything?” Søren asks, his patience growing thin. But in the back of the mind, he feels like he knows.

It’s not so different from their last embrace; months ago, before he had to board the plane back to LA.

Why does he question himself now, as he did then, but for different reasons?

Silence fills the air, save for the blaring music- ironic, but it’s there.

“I… I wanted to ask you about that,” Luka responds, sighing as if he’s about to ask something he wouldn’t dare to. As if he had waited all this time. “Didn’t… Don’t you feel anything?”

Søren’s puzzled by that. His heart is pounding against his ribcage, half dying from curiosity to know what Luka’s trying to say, and half confused by the sudden change in behavior. He looks back in time, in the back of his mind, searching for clues.

They had just been friends right? Seeing each other a handful of times, despite the texts, occasional skype chat, the few times they met… and that one night in Luka’s hotel room. He had just been there to comfort him, right? What was so unusual about that?

“I… what?”

His mind is racing, hazel eyes on Luka’s own. He opens his mouth to ask, but Luka doesn’t give him the chance to respond.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he says, biting his lip, almost too hard, trying to restrain the words that threatened to spill. He looks as if he’s about to cry again. When Søren tries to reach out to him, the boy finally starts to walk.

“Luka, wait,”

But he doesn’t listen, and hurried steps lead him out of the club. In a moment of delay, Søren wonders if he should give the boy some space, or if he should give pursuit. Adrenaline is coursing through his veins, some from excitement, some from fear, some from nervousness. He can’t separate anything from the other, and soon, it’s only the fleeting sound of his footsteps that tell him where he’s going.

The alleyway behind the club is dimly lit, leaving Luka’s silhouette the only visible thing. He’s breathing hard, somewhere between about to cry and holding on; keeping a veneer of stability. Cautiously, Søren takes slow steps towards the boy.

“Luka, come back,” he says, strangely calm, willing himself to cool off. He tilts his head to get a better view of Luka, who shakes his head.

“Just go,” he mutters. “It was silly of me.”

“What?” Søren adds, taking a deliberated step forward. “Why? What have I done? Or for that matter what have you done to make you think that?”

The boy doesn’t respond, averting his gaze towards the concrete.

Søren takes another step.

Then another.

And finally a final one.

Luka is right beside him, his eyes still barred from visibility, his face still half shrouded. It feels dangerous almost; in fact, on any other night maybe that’s what Søren would have felt, but not this time. Not by a long shot. He’s so close, he could smell Luka’s scent. He had never taken the time to notice the scent of another man.

“Luka, please,” he says again. “I-“

He doesn’t get that far.

“You couldn’t just leave for your own good, could you?” Luka’s eyes narrow, and before Søren knows what’s happening, the European midlaner is leaning forward, pressing his soft lips against Søren’s own.

Søren inhales sharply in his mouth, shocked, to which Luka takes the moment to open his mouth to the taller man before him, passionately demanding something back in return. Something, _anything_ to quell the sudden flaring ache in him.

He can feel Luka’s arms reach tightly around him, pulling his waist flush against the boy’s athletic form just as instinct told Søren to pull back, all so that they could be closer. It’s suddenly intoxicating. His taste and smell. They assail his senses and drive him to a place that he’s never dreamed of being, of living in. Luka’s touch, however inexperience, bring the sensation of fire, liquid heat coursing through his veins untampered and untamed. He feels fingers, nails, something, despite the material between them and his skin, digging into his back.

He hisses in pleasure, involuntarily when he realizes how aroused he’s become, when Luka’s hard-on presses against his leg, hears the soft chuckle escape the boy’s lips when Søren realizes that he’s just as hard, and that Luka can feel it just as much.

“Søren,” he whispers, his voice soft like silk, the tang of a Croatian accent enough to drive his senses further and further into haywire. He’s pinned against the wall, eyes tightly shut in pleasure, his glasses askew under Luka’s unrelenting pressure. “You’re enjoying this.”

Søren doesn’t respond, far too gone, far too deep in pleasure and arousal. Those words barely register, and he’s completely limp, save for his cock in his suddenly too damn tight pants. He moans softly into Luka’s mouth, prompting the boy to bring a hand down, playfully palming his cock through his track pants.

It feels so good. It feels so _fucking_ good.

For a brief moment, he loses all sense of reality, and when he opens his eyes, it’s as if he’s staring into a dreamlike world, an alternate reality. Luka’s not the one in front of him. Not anymore.

A moment of panic. Fear courses through his veins.

And he says her again. The girl from the club.

The one word he understood rings loud and clear again.

 

_“Faggots.”_

 

Her scowl, her glare, like hot daggers being thrown at him.

 

…

 

_Her voice is somewhere between angry and trying to keep calm. Something that Søren can see through without even trying. He knows her so well. She’s his mother after all._

_When she opens her mouth, he’s prepared for an angry stream of Danish to be thrown his way._

_But at the last second, she changes her mind, merely shaking her head and sighing in defeat. When she retreats to her room, Søren could have sworn he heard a sob._

_No._

 

…

 

_No._

_Not like this._

 

The sudden invasion of the thought jars him back to reality, and he gasps, forcefully pushing Luka back, all the arousal he had felt moments before becoming undiluted fear, ripping through him uncontrollably. His breathing is erratic, his heart grinding against his chest, threatening to tear from his ribcage.

Luka looks confused, afraid, somewhere in between. His face is still flushed, but the expression has completely changed. It looks so incredibly wrong.

“Søren?” He wheezes, trying to catch his breath.

Søren just stares back, eyes wide, filled with so many churning emotions. His lips are swollen, flush from the force of Luka’s kisses, the taste and memory of it still hot in his mouth. Luka’s scent is still all over him, and he almost has to will himself to regain his senses; as if the strongest emotion hadn’t spoken for him already.

Fear.

“I can’t do this,” he hastily says, turning away, retreating from the expanse of the alleyway, towards the main street, away from what had just occurred. “I can’t do this.”

His steps start slow, quickly picking up the pace, first matching Luka’s, then finally outpacing him. He just wants to run.

_I can’t do this._

“Wait!”

There’s a voice from behind him as his walking steps become running ones. They’re not registering, he’s not hearing them. Confusion clouds his mind, and he has to force himself to calm down. His heart is still grinding against his chest, but he no longer knows what he wants to do.

He no longer knows what’s right and wrong.

All because Luka had to kiss him.

 

* * *

 

 

When Luka arrives back to the hotel, his face is still flushed, but no longer from the arousal. He wants to cry, he wants to cry so damn badly, holding it for so long, step after step. He had intended to be play some solo queue upon coming back tonight, but now he simply didn’t have the stomach for it.

He wants to run away.

But he knows he can’t.

Grimacing, he takes slow, steady steps towards the hotel room door; something that reminds him of that one night Søren had come over to check on him. It stings. It stings so fucking much.

Damn it all. Damn it to hell.

Why? What happened? Why did Søren have to react like that? Had he gotten the signs all wrong? No. No that makes no sense. Søren enjoyed it. He knows that. He saw it, felt it when Søren started returning the pleasure, reciprocating the touch. Even before that, he was so certain that he had gotten it right. But nonetheless, neither of them had explicitly disclosed anything to one another. Whether he likes it or not, the facts are consistent.

Did he receive the wrong fact, did he only have  _his_ own fact? What is he missing?

Just as he opens the door, he catches glimpse of his marksman, returning to his room with a glass of juice in hand. Instinct tells him to say something, just drop a quick greeting. But when Luka opens his mouth, nothing comes out. His lips are still swollen, the taste of Søren on his tongue still vividly emblazoned in his mind, but the words just don’t find their way.

He hates himself. Jesper doesn't know. No. Of course he doesn't. He hasn't said anything to him about it, after all. Perhaps he should leave it like that. But in the same vein, he doesn't want to. He wants to cry out, break down again, like he did last time in Søren's arms. But how could he? Søren isn't here this time, and is he about to tell Jesper everything that had just transpired?

No. No, he can't do that.

“Luka?” The Dane asks, shooting him a worried glance.

He doesn’t respond. Just merely shakes his head, averting his gaze to the interior of the dark room. If the shields that he had spent so long building up, carefully maintaining had been cracked before, them they were shattered now. He can feel the tears coming. And this time, he can’t stop them.

“Luka, wait!”

The voice is trailing, as if it’s coming from miles and miles away. So far away, like everything else now seems to be. Trapped within the wall of his hotel room, ruminating in misery, like those months ago. When they had just lost to ANX.

Søren had been there for him that time.

But what about now?

So far away.

So far away.

 

* * *

 

 

 _(46 minutes ago) Luka Perković:_ Søren come back. Please. It was my mistake.

 

_It feels pointless. Stupid. Why would he come back now, after all that?_

_But it was worth a try, right? Maybe…somehow…_

_The icon by Søren’s name switched to green- he was online._

_But no answer comes._

 

* * *

 

 

 

May 12th, 2017

“Luka, are you ready for today’s game?” Joey asks, worriedly. “You’ve seemed distant as of late. We’re only at a 2-2 record, you know that right?”

To which Luka couldn’t respond. Only lift his head to show that he had heard, and acknowledged those words- which would have to do for now.

His teammates looked sympathetically at him; he hadn’t said much for the past few days. Frankly, none of them had, outside of game. Tensions were running high, and it was all or nothing now. Were they to lose again, then they would sully their name even further.

…

That couldn’t be allowed to happen. And against TSM no less.

Luka sighs, trying to will himself to be calm, to clear his mind. For a split second before he steps on stage, he wonders what Søren must be thinking from across the stage. How must he feel to lane, to play against him now? After all that’s happened?

And yet there is another fleeting thought at the back of his mind.

That girl at the bar.

The dangerous femme fatale, sexy, beautiful. What did she know?

…Why had he decided that one night to start talking to her?

So many questions that he doesn't have the answer to. All he can do is look forward. And pray.

 

* * *

 

 

He closes his eyes, the thought of Søren’s taste on his lips, Søren’s frame against his hot in his mind. It’s distracting, and however he hard he tries to shut it out, he can’t. He tries to regain his calm, to say something light-hearted, like he always does, to lighten the mood, to no avail. He doesn’t have the heart for this. So he looks away, and over the computer screen. It’s not allowed, he knows that.

But he can’t help it.

His eyes rest on the Dane from across the stage. His face is cold, relentlessly focused on the game. Unwavering. But when his eyes meet Luka’s, time slowing to a crawl, Luka sees something he hadn’t been expecting.

It wasn’t disdain, dislike, disgust, anything of that sort.

But it vanishes all in an instant when the familiar sound of entering champion select crashes in his ears.

Pushing his confusion and unease from his thoughts, he takes a deep breath and enters game, despite Bjergsen’s Jayce controlling the pace of the game. In spite of several misplays from side lanes, Bjergsen remains calm, controlled, systematically pushing every lead. In the end, no one could remove him from the equation, and even as the game comes to its climax, a few more autos on the enemy nexus from Trick, they ultimately fail, and TSM seize the opportunity.

50 minutes in, TSM take down G2.

The pain is numbed; they’re now down 2-3, but Luka doesn’t feel the brunt of the impact. He’s far too gone, confused, in strange acceptance of what just happened. He pulls himself together nonetheless, forcing a smile on his face when his opponents come around to shake hands. From Wildturtle, to Biofrost, to Svenskeren… and finally to Bjergsen.

To Søren.

They both hesitate at that, Luka instinctively wanting to reach out for a hug, like they had always done.

Like just days ago.

But he can’t. His eyes wander the moment Søren comes up to him; he can’t look the Dane in the eyes. Not after all that. Not after everything that’s happened. But nonetheless, he awkwardly accepts the handshake, the warmth of skin against skin making him increasingly uneasy.

This time, his eyes flicker to Søren’s, almost by instinct; against all willpower. They share a brief moment of eye contact. Then it all goes away.

And Søren continues to walk back to his computer. And then finally off stage.

 

* * *

 

 

( _5 days ago) Luka Perković_ : Søren come back. Please. It was my mistake.

 

 _(4 days ago) Luka Perković:_ Where are you? Remember you suggested at the club that we’d meet again today?

_(4 days ago) Luka Perković:_??

_(3 days ago) Luka Perković:_ Come back. Let’s talk about it.

_(3 days ago) Luka Perković:_ Call me back

_(3 days ago) Luka Perković:_ Please. Call me

_(2 days ago) Luka Perković:_ I’m worried. Call or text. Something.

_(2 days ago) Luka Perković:_ We’re just going to leave it like this?

_(1 day ago) Luka Perković:_ I’m sorry. It was my fault. Please, come back. Say something

_(20 hours ago) Luka Perković:_ Søren?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _(2 minutes ago) Søren Bjerg:_ Luka

 

Søren’s standing outside the door to G2’s scrim room, impatiently tapping his foot against the floor, glancing at his phone every once in a while. The elation from winning has begun to die, and Søren realizes how close that game was.

If either of them had played just a little differently, the outcome could have changed right then and there.

Against all odds he had managed to keep his calm. He had thought long and hard about what to do next; does he just leave it all here? Forget that it all happened, like he had wanted to at Worlds? Ignore the pressing matter, because they live miles apart?

It’s the easy route out, he knows that. He’s thought of it, really considered it, but each and every time, it leads back to the same answer- it’s not an option he wants to take.  However much he hates to admit it, he knows what he felt. He enjoyed that night. He enjoys talking to Luka, being with Luka. When had he started to feel that way? When he looks back, he realizes that he can’t pinpoint the exact time when it must have happened.

They met… in a rather unorthodox manner, if memory serves. Standing at the lobby of the hotel, strange introductions, to joining one another for lunch, to the few times, coincidence or by luck of matching schedules- that they met.

To that one night when Luka broke down in his arms.

He lets out a sigh. They were both doomed to drop out of the group stage after that. Of course, he felt some semblance of pity for the both of them, but when they had to finally say their goodbyes that night, it wasn’t pity that he felt most strongly.

Søren hadn’t realized it then, and perhaps he still doesn’t. Perhaps he still doesn’t want to.

Shaking his head, it’s this exact inability to piece together his thoughts that keeps his hand inches from the door, wanting to knock, but never quite able to.

It’s getting late, and Søren knows that most of the other teams have already left, save for themselves and TSM. He’s decided against better judgement to take the initiative to resume contact, but for what? Why is he doing this? He doesn’t have the answer, can only feel the hammering of his heart against his chest as his raises his fist just a little, preparing to finally knock.

When he finally decides to it, the door swings open, almost too fast.

Søren hadn’t expected that.

To his surprise, their coach, Youngbuck greets him with an expectant smile, gesturing him to come in; no need for words.

“Hello?” Søren waves, holding his breath when Luka slowly turns his head to peer over his shoulder.

Luka smiles the moment he sees Søren step closer, but the smile falters for a split second as if Luka had just now remembered the loss-, and what else? A mix of emotions clashing on his face that Søren is all too familiar with. Those are the same emotions that must have been plastered on his face, just days ago.

Luka’s eyes are still a little puffy and he quickly gets to his feet, abandoning the game before it even begins. He tilts his head towards Søren, confusion settling in.

“Luka, can I talk to you for a second?” He asks, immediately looking in Youngbuck’s direction for approval- after all. The man lets out a sigh, but reluctantly nods- gesturing to the G2 midlaner to exit the room.

“2 minutes,” he says hoarsely, before closing the door behind them. Suddenly they’re alone, in a hallway that’s more dimly lit than normal- conditions that ironically mirror the last time that they had really talked face to face.

“Just wanted to say,” Søren starts awkwardly. The air between them is so still, there’s not even the white noise from the air conditioning unit to mask the awkward distance in his words.

“One bad game doesn’t mean anything,” Søren adds too quickly. “It… it sucks, I know, but you’re still a great player.”

Luka nods slightly, following along.

“Plus, it’s not over yet, you know?” Søren grins and Luka nods again slowly. Søren can’t help but follow the slant of his lashes as he looks back down at the ground. “I… that game could have gone either way… and…. I just…”

There’s so much more he wants to say, but like always, he finds nothing but emptiness in his mind when he searches for the words to speak. The memory of that night, like every time they met before is still burnt in his mind.

He opens his mouth to speak again, but Luka is ready for him.

“Thank you,” Luka murmurs. He takes the words with surprising calm given that Søren had just appeared out of the blue in his room a minute ago. “But… I know. In the end, we weren’t good enough. Still, congratulations,” he sighs.

“Thanks,” Søren says back.

For some reason Luka looks even sadder than he did before Søren walked through the door. It’s frustrating to think that there might not be anything that Søren can feasibly say to make Luka feel better. The memory is fresh in both of their minds, realizing when he takes one glance into the Croat’s hazel pools. Both of them want to speak so badly, but can’t.

“Luka… I…That night,” he finally begins, his heart jumping into his throat. “I… let’s...”

To which Luka shakes his head. “Not now, Søren. Not now. We’re competitors. First and foremost. I’ve… I’ve accepted that after today’s loss. So… please, understand how I feel.”

Disappointment fills him at the sound of those words.

“Okay…”

His eyes scan Luka’s features, looking for some explanation for his refusal to speak of that night, of what happened. He finds exactly what he had been expecting. The same look, the same emotions, mirrored perfectly in Luka’s face.

His breath hitches, and he only realizes then that he’s fallen for Luka.

Like every time before this, but only this time he’s plagued by silence. He wants to say something, anything to comfort the midlaner, but try as he might, the words are all in Danish. He’s normally so fluent in English, it might as well be his native language. But in times like these, there’s nothing but utter disappointment and frustration at his inability to express anything properly.

He settles instead for pulling Luka into a tight hug and listens for the hitch in his breath, the little sob caught in the back of the boy’s throat, and the beat of his heart pressed up against Søren’s chest.

And even though they don’t say anything, he knows Luka feels it too.

Somehow, somewhere, he feels it too.

 

* * *

 

 

May 14th, 2017

(27 minutes ago) Søren Bjerg: _May the best man win?_

(Just now) Luka Perković: _May the best man win._

 

* * *

 

 

May 15th, 2017

TSM crash and burn, and burn badly at that. Whatever fuel that they had, in hopes of carrying them out of groups, to not repeat the failure of 2015, all but gone. It stings, and there’s nothing to curb, to mitigate the sting of losing their final game against G2- sealing their fate and promoting G2 out of groups.

They hadn’t held up the NA pride. They hadn’t carried on the CLG legacy. Now all that was left was to limp home in shame.

Søren’s practically done packing, just his toothbrush and phone chargers left hanging out by the counter when Luka shows up outside his door, looking as lost as if his team had been eliminated instead. He opens the door and Luka takes only careful steps, making his way over and avoiding Søren’s luggage strewn all across the floor. He has a sorry expression on his face, to which Søren ruefully acknowledges.

“Søren,” he starts and he opens his hands, palms face up. “Are you okay?”

"Are you sure you’re allowed here at this time?" Søren breathes. It feels like a weight lifted off his chest when Luka looks back at him, his eyes a little watery too. It’s a distancing question, out of reflex, self-defense, the remnants of trying not to let his guard down.

But Luka sees right through it. Like he always had.

“Søren,” he repeats and this time Luka moves on his own accord, wrapping his arms around Søren. He nuzzles into the crook between Luka’s neck and shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“For what,” Søren says, wondering for a split second what it is that he’s questioning. His MSI dream is over, but that doesn’t mean it was all for naught. “I mean…”

Luka shakes his head. “For everything.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence between them as their eyes lock again. There’s still layers of hurt in those beautiful hazel eyes, but at the very least, Luka’s no longer afraid to meet his gaze anymore. Søren’s missed staring at those eyes.

“Don’t be,” he finally says. He’s learnt a lot from this. In a span of a few weeks, PerkZ has gone from being PerkZ to being Luka, to _really_ being Luka, and the idea that it’s all coming to an end is enough to make Søren’s throat close up.

Søren hugs him for a long time, nearly as long as Luka had held him for when he had lost to ANX, months ago, sobbing into his chest. It’s oddly nostalgic and makes his stomach fill with butterflies. Søren doesn’t move back until Luka pulls back first.

“It’ll be okay,” Søren says, because for a second it looks as if Luka is going to cry too. He gives Luka a small pat on the back and trails his fingers down his arm to give him a light squeeze. “I’m okay I promise! Don’t cry.”

Thankfully, Luka doesn’t, and instead holds on strong, even being able to muster the courage to smile. He sure looks cute with that radiant grin, and takes a seat on Søren’s bed.

They stay like that in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Søren almost finished packing when Luka finally speaks again.

“So… Søren, about… about that night,” he begins, letting out a clearly audible breath.

Upon hearing that, Søren stops everything, all his attention diverted to the topic at hand. His gaze is unwavering, focused intently on Luka, who no longer looks afraid. No longer looks sad.

“I… I’m sorry…” He says, slow and steady. “I…”

Søren interrupts him, raising a hand, shaking his head. “Stop. It’s… It’s I who should…”

“But,”

“I left you there,” he adds.

“Yes, but I kissed you.”

“And I enjoyed it.”

“Then why did you…?” Luka shakes his head, but he too, knows the logical answer.

“… Because I was afraid. I’m… I’m not comfortable…” Søren begins, sighing in defeat at the thought of it. Why now? Why did it have to happen now? Why did he have to think back to that night in Denmark, after Worlds?

When his family was there?

What for? They said it was alright, didn’t they? So why does he still feel this way?

“So, as I said, my fault,” Luka interjects, shaking his head. “Just… Forget about it, okay?”

The mention of that causes a brief surge of anger to touch Søren, nails digging into his palm painfully as he clenches his fist. No. Of course he won’t forget it. Not after everything that’s happened. He can’t, he won’t.

“Luka, please don’t,” he starts. Søren’s not ready to say goodbye like this, not yet. There's so much he wants to tell Luka, so much he wants to do still. Yet it's Luka who makes the first move, pulling Søren back over until he's practically leaning over Luka who remains staunchly seated.

"Søren," Luka says, looking up. His eyes lock onto Søren’s and suddenly there's no words to be said between them. There's no time to bounce his thoughts out from Danish into English into Croatian, into whatever to tell Luka how he’s feeling. There’s nothing else to do as he takes Luka’s face in his hands and kisses him, this time taking the initiative.

Luka’s lips are warm, dry, and they part so nicely under Søren who grabs hold of Luka’s face with both his hands to tilt his head back. For all that he's obsessed about this moment these past few days, nothing passes through his mind as Luka lets him press in harder. His mind is utterly blank, blissful as Luka opens up underneath him, eager and pliant.

Although it’s not quite as passionate and heated as it was that night, it nonetheless succeeds in causing Søren to lose his composure, his breaths erratic when they finally break the kiss, staring at Luka’s equally swollen lips.

And it’s Luka who breaks the silence once more.

“What… What for Søren?” He asks, involuntarily bringing his fingers to gently caress his lips, ask if to verify that he had just been kissed by Søren again.

“For you,” is all he says, their gazes still locked, all the while gently holding Luka’s hand. It’s like shaking the boy’s hand, only infinitely better. There’s no room for misinterpretation, no foreign eyes on them. They can be themselves, hand in hand.

Luka smiles, using the little time they have left to pull Søren a little closer again, until their noses are touching. It tickles, and he has to hold back a giggle.

“Thank you,” he finally says, and in turn, presses a soft kiss back against Søren’s lips. It’s faint, it’s almost teasing, a huge disparity between this time and the last time that Luka had initiated the kiss. Søren could feel disappointed, but all he can think about is how good those lips feel against is, how badly his breath has been taken away from him.

“And what was that for?” Søren cheekily asks, dazed.

Luka shakes his head adorably, leaning affectionately against the Dane, until his head is almost resting against the taller boy’s chest.

“For you.”

They stay like that for several minutes, hand in hand, frame against frame, basking in the warmth that radiates from one another. It feels good, it feels right. Time is against them, and when it’s finally time to go, Luka makes sure to turn back one last time.

“Next time?”

A no brainer.

“Next time.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment? ^^ It keeps me motivated to finish this story


	3. Rift Rivals Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. I'm back from the dead... Sorry. I know this is frustrating but I decided to split Act 3 into 2 scenes.
> 
> WARNING: There are some controversial elements in this section.

_The room is dark- it’s deep night. Silence as far as the ear can hear- until what’s this? Another buzz?_

_She smiles, as if she already knew what’s about to come, as if she knows darker secrets beyond what she’s about to unravel. Men are so predictable. Well, most men at least- this one no less._

_Her finger moves over to the screen, the passcode she’s swiped so many times, the notification she’s reveled at receiving- Snapchat._

_Mitch Voorspoels: Hey babe_

_Mitch Voorspoels: Waiting for you_

_She thinks of replying- but stops for a split second when the moving dots appear again- he’s typing. Or perhaps, sending something._

_Her belief was not without warrant._

_There’s a red box beside his name- a picture. What kind? What kind, Krepo?_

_She grins, almost too eagerly opening the snap- and in turn, has sealed his fate._

_…_

_“You took a screenshot!”_

2017 Off Season

Doublelift returns to TSM’s starting lineup during the pre-season, and Søren can’t help but feel like winning worlds is within their grasp again. Then again, the same could be said for G2, who managed to take a game off of SKT in the finals; unheard of for a Western team.

G2 doesn’t make any changes to their roster, and Søren feels that it’s that very same roster that will win in EU again and go to worlds. He knows that they’ll meet there again.

In his spare time, he wonders what it would be like to return to Europe eventually. Sure, he’d technically be considered a North American import, being grandfathered here and all, but it’s still an option that he would like to keep open. He’s grown to appreciate the American culture very much- and despite returning to Denmark during the off season last Christmas- he hasn’t this time around.

Still, the thought of it does sound nice, and he can’t help but wonder how things could be, _would_ be different if Luka was a mere train ride away- rather than an entire body of water away. Sure, Søren _could_ play on the EU server, he does have an account there after all, but one, thing ping would be atrocious, and two, it doesn’t make up for physical distance.

Besides, they have skype calls for that even though it still kinda sucks, at least they can see each other’s faces for a bit, so long as their teammates prying eyes aren’t there.

Sometime later in May, Riot announces that they’re holding a mini, pseudo-international event. The Rift Rivals. Something to satisfy the masses, to play to the NA vs EU rivalry by giving them a few days to play against one another in Germany. The top three teams from each region in spring split will be the representatives- luckily for Søren, that includes TSM and G2.

It is ordained. They are destined to meet again.

And much sooner too at that.

 

2017 June- Summer Split

Summer split has been an up and down ride for Søren.

For one, Doublelift rejoining their roster means they need some time to gel together again. Yes, they’ve played together before but a whole split away makes a huge difference. CLG’s signed Dardoch, and Søren can feel the rivalry reignite- they’ve been neck and neck for claiming first in NA LCS. The month so far, to say the least, has been tough.

When he glances over to EU, it pains him to see that G2’s been struggling. Søren attributes it to burn out- after all, MSI must have taken a lot out of them. Suffice to say, they’ve had less and less time to communicate, twelve hours between texts, and sometimes a week without skype calling.

Søren is lonely, that much is obvious. He and Pokimane have been good friends for a while, and he finds himself spending more than just a little too much time with her when he can- so much that it sparks concern in the team.

Søren thinks about kissing her, once, twice, maybe more than that- to the point he loses track of counting. He never does though, because each time he thinks about it, he's left with the memory of Luka’s hand on his shoulder as he leaned in shyly to press their lips together. When he jerks off, it's still Luka bundled up in his arms the last night they spent together in Brazil that finds its way into his thoughts.

Nonetheless, he manages to restrain himself; and things go on smoothly. Come to think of it, they haven’t really officialized anything about their “relationship”. What are they? Can they even be called something? It’s a pretty pointless question, if he’s completely honest, but it does nonetheless make him wonder how Luka feels in Europe.

As the month goes on, and Rift Rivals draw closer, TSM begin to find their stride and are back on top of NA LCS. He’s in touch with Luka, and as the fated week approaches, and schedules loosen up, they finally find more time to chat.

Søren can’t help but notice the disparity between how they talk online- during the competitive season, and how they spoke in person. They’re competitors, naturally, so it comes as no surprise that the first thing on their minds is the game. The meta, new picks, new strats, how they’ve been struggling in EU, everything ventured. But the few times that both of them have more than just a few minutes, it goes on for hours about each other’s days, how much they miss one another, and how badly they can’t wait to see one another again.

It’s easier to chat on Skype; and also, less dangerous, really, if “dangerous” even made any sense. Out of the blue, Luka will just randomly drop messages like:

 

Luka Perković (10:47 PM): _Hey babe. Miss you :)_

Søren Bjerg (10: 49 PM): _Perfect timing as always. Miss you too cutie_

Søren Bjerg (10:49 PM): _Can’t wait to see you again :)_

Luka Perković (10:50 PM): _T_T_

Søren Bjerg (10:51 PM): _Excited for RR?_

 

No doubt, he’s excited for Rift Rivals. Both of them are. Although if Søren were to be completely honest, if it weren’t for the prospect of seeing one another again, maybe he’d have said something else about it. But he sure as hell ain’t complaining.

 

Luka Perković (10:55 PM): _Excited to vs you guys_

Luka Perković (10:55 PM): _And see you, ofc :)_

Søren Bjerg (10:56 PM): _No scrims for you right? Lbr no one gives a shit about it_

Luka Perković (10:57 PM): _Hell no. Probably like one a day and no one’s gonna take it srs_

Luka Perković (10:57 PM): _Just in it for the luls_

Luka Perković (10: 57 PM): _And you ofc :)_

Søren Bjerg (10:58 PM): _Aww making me blush_

Luka Perković (10:58 PM): _That’s not the only place I make blood go to :)_

 

To which Søren doubles up in laughter, causing the rest of the room to turn heads in confusion, typing back into the chat box nonchalantly:

 

Søren Bjerg (10:59 PM): _You naughty boy_

Luka Perkovic (10:59 PM): _:D_

Søren Bjerg: (10:59 PM): _:D :D_

 

July 1st, 2017

It’s three days before the first Rift Rivals match. Technically, they _are_ supposed to scrim, at least a little, but even the coaches apparently don’t particularly care- it’s mostly just a vacation and a pseudo-important tournament to prove regional dominance.

Nothing particularly interesting.

The first thing Søren does after their scrim against G2 is tap on the green chat bubble- and less than a second later, Luka is already writing to him.

 

Luka Perkovic: Fun game?

Søren Bjerg: Nice Yasuo mechanics :)

Søren Bjerg: You got time now?

Luka Perkovic: Of course m’lord :)

 

To which a shiver of excitement finds its way down Søren’s spine as he grins at the screen. He looks around- finding Vincent and Peter chatting about something game related, while Kevin and Dennis are about to head to the gym.

Perfect.

 

Søren Bjerg: Top floor?

Luka Perkovic: Sure

Søren Bjerg: See you soon :)

 

 

It’s the middle of the afternoon with decent weather as far as Berlin goes. Søren’s still a bit jet lagged, but he manages, tired steps leading him to the where the elevators are. Adrenaline is still coursing through his veins as he pauses to imagine what’s coming next, when Luka spots him from the other side of the hall.

It’s only been a couple months apart, about two, to be exact, but it feels like something has changed. It’s probably the rather lax nature of the tournament- there’s not a bit of stress to be seen on either of their faces. Søren had grown used to it, seeing Luka a bit stressed, a bit worried, a bit flustered, all of it masqueraded by confidence. The confident, cocky smile hasn’t changed, Søren realizes, when Luka waves over to him.

Søren takes a couple steps, stopping in his tracks when Luka gestures towards the security camera, wondering if they’re really allowed to interact so openly.

Obliging, he follows the boy, until they’re out of camera sight and he’s facing Luka in a rather tight corridor. It makes him pause for a split second to wonder how many of the closed doors are currently in use- and thus the chance of them getting caught.

But only for a split second.

“Two months, huh?” Luka says, grinning a little. “Seems like forever.”

They’re away from the cameras, and it doesn’t take Søren long to realize that Luka chose the top floor for a reason. He lives in Berlin after all. They probably won’t be interrupted. So he holds nothing back, smiling widely as he lets his hand rest on Luka’s waist, pulling them closer.

“I’ve missed you,” Søren whispers, gently grazing Luka’s exposed ear with his lips.

To which Luka pulls away a little, eyeing the Dane cheekily with a small head shake. “Not so obvious.”

“What, will we get caught?” Søren responds.

“Remember?” Luka continues, trying to contain his laughter. “This is Rift Rivals. You and I.”

“What else is new though,” Søren murmurs, but then Luka closes the distance again, until their lips are almost touching. They’re still in public, so Søren stops himself from going further- fighting the urge to make up for the distance in the past two months.

“I’ll show you what else is new,” Luka says, before gesturing Søren to move forward, and away from the hallway.

And towards the men’s room.

 

It’s dangerous, really, even if the room is pretty much never used, yet kept clean all the same.

But it’s also sorta the only place that they can do anything right now- neither of them have the luxury of having single rooms this time around. Nonetheless, Luka is positive that it’ll be all the same- just a bit less comfortable due to the rather confined nature of the stall.

“Well…” Luka begins, awkwardly scratching his head as he looks down at the ceramic tiles. The lights aren’t even on- a testament to how little the washroom is used, but sunlight still makes its way inside, leaving a dimly lit room rather reminiscent of that night in the back alley-way. Nonetheless, Søren can’t quite keep his hands off of Luka, teasing touches causing the boy to giggle.

“Well?” Søren replies, pushing Luka’s hands away so that he can take off the boy’s shirt for him.

“What we didn’t get to do last time,” Luka answers, tilting Søren’s chin downwards, meanwhile on his toes; to press a soft kiss at the corner of the Dane’s mouth.

“Did you like that?” He adds, and Søren closes his eyes, letting himself be pressed against the rather sturdy and luxurious door of the stall. It’s one of those that reveal nothing- save for the bottom of everyone’s soles.

They probably won’t be caught.

Luka’s lips press against his again- and for a brief moment, there’s a slight hesitation.

“Hmm?” When Søren opens his eyes, he’s greeted by something he doesn’t get to see often on Luka’s face- a bit of hesitation and unsureness. There’s a nervous smile on those lips that scream of desire and desperation almost- but it’s tempered. Luka reigns it in.

“This okay?” Luka asks, no doubt thinking about the last time they were alone like this. It’s been a few months but it certainly still stings at the back of his mind.

“Yes,” Søren replies, allowing Luka to lean against him a bit more, until there’s virtually no space between the door of the stall and his body. Luka’s still hesitant, still testing the waters, despite most of his weight now on Søren.

Luka presses a kiss against the side of Søren’s neck, cycling between gentle and teasing, and passionate and aggressive It doesn’t take long for the familiar heat to start coiling in his gut, for those soft moans and weighty breaths to start leaving his lips- Luka’s good at this. It takes an incredible amount of self-control for Søren to not give in to primordial desire.

Søren opts to help Luka remove his shirt- one because he’s actually never had the chance to undress Luka, and two, to distract his hands. A touch of surprise hits him when both he and Luka are rendered shirtless- it’s not nearly the same as it is across Skype or through a not-so-innocent snapchat. The scent, the feeling of skin against skin, all those minute details that vision through a screen simply cannot procure.

Their lips touch again, and Søren feels a little more daring this time, a little more aggressive with the lead. As Luka presses into him again, Søren makes sure to pull him closer until they fit together perfectly.

Luka lets out a soft moan into Søren’s mouth, and for a split second he loses any and all composure that he had before. He presses forward, meeting Luka halfway, glasses askew and eyes tightly shut in pleasure. He can feel Luka, hard and pressing into his thigh as the Croat strains forward.

“You like?” Luka asks, slotting a hand between them to palm at Søren’s covered cock- the outline distracting through his track pants.

Søren grinds forward a little more, slight vertical movements to simulate friction. He doesn’t answer, but instead moans softly when he realizes he’s already closer than intended. Not wanting to waste the moment and merely getting frottaged through his pants, he instead opens his eyes, prompting Luka to stop.

There’s a flash of concern in the Croat’s eyes, but Søren shakes his head, smiling as he gestures Luka to switch positions, ending with the younger against the door and Søren on the offensive. He’s calmed down a bit- the heat is no longer threatening to erupt.

“Yes,” Søren finally answers, resuming his attack and shifting a leg in between Luka’s to allow both of them to move in sloppy motion against one another. He ruts up against Luka’s spread thighs and watches the way Luka blinks up at him, needy and desperate for more. They stay like that for a while, the friction between them mind-numbingly good and it's enough for Søren to just hold Luka like this, like they've got all the time in the world, if not for the fact that they are literally in a public washroom.

One that’s barely used, of course.

But still a public one nonetheless.

Søren’s not a virgin, not by a long shot, and he stops for a second to wonder if Luka is though. Knowing the puckish Croat, Søren decides that he probably isn’t one- but is too afraid to ask nonetheless. It’s not really so important- but what they’re doing, in a public washroom no less, is something you’d probably see in porn and not real life.

Søren may normally have an aura of a God- untouchable. Luka may normally appear confident- perhaps to a fault- but all of that is lost in at the sight of one another, shirtless, inconspicuous hard-ons yearning for liberation.

It’s dimly lit in the washroom due to the lights being shut off, and Søren still struggles with making out the finest intricacies of Luka’s frame and eyes.  He can make out the silhouette no doubt, but anything beyond that and it’s more about the other senses. It forces the both of them to navigate, explore, and indulge in the thrill of one another’s bodies in a way Søren hadn’t imagined.

Luka’s face, his lips, his eyes, he’s got those memorized. Those are things he can visibly see time and time again without issue. But everything else? Not so much. Seeing Luka shirtless through a snapchat does not compare to seeing and feeling him shirtless- skin against skin. It’s both exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time, being able to undress and feel every inch of Luka.

He can really feel the warmth radiating from the Croat’s body despite the darkness. Luka’s skin is already flush, warm and heated from the sexual tension. Luka’s thighs are lean, with a slight outline of muscle giving it tone. Nonetheless, they can and will part at Søren’s discretion- allowing him to push his palm down against the bulge of Luka’s pants. It’s one thing to feel it against him, but he really gets a good idea of how big it is- and how good it feels against his palm.

 **“** Ahh,” Luka moans, his breath hitching when Søren crouches a bit, who’s a little pleased to see that he doesn’t need to go on his knees due to the staggering difference in height. Luka’s exposed upper half is soft, with faint muscle lining his abs and pecs, a little bit of body hair running up his abdomen.

He looks delicious. Søren smirks, pressing a kiss against his hipbone, all the while continuing the rough movement of palm against crotch.

“Søren… Søren I” Luka begins, his fingers tugging at the strands of Søren’s hair, occasionally gripping tightly. Too tightly. “Søren... Ah,”

“What is it?” Søren asks, but doesn’t stop- instead slipping a finger beneath the waistband of Luka’s pants. Cheekily, he drags both of them down at once, letting a finger slide up the muscle of Luka’s inner thigh- stopping short of actually touching his cock through his boxers. Luka trembles at the contact.

Luka’s helpless, far gone in his hazy lust and arousal. He’s been rendered completely ineffective, responding only to Søren’s unrelenting touches. He doesn’t even answer, only moaning feebly when Søren pushes his palm down, this time with the fabric of the boxers as the sole barrier between skin. Søren smiles, squeezing lightly and experimentally at Luka’s cock through the material, laughing when a curse word or two escapes Luka’s lips- probably in Croatian.

Unrelenting, he continues further, pushing his pursed lips against the fabric, lightly kissing the beast through the boxers.

“Søren… I” Luka gasps again, his breath hitching and messy- voice coming out louder than intended.

“Shh, shh,” Søren coos, making some distance to press a finger against his lips- like coddling an infant. Their gazes meet for a split second, with Søren finding enjoyment in seeing Luka bite down to hold in what was certainly a high-pitched moan, all the while licking his lips at the sight of Luka’s still-covered cock.

“Not so loud,” he purrs, before finally pulling down the fabric of the boxers and unleashing Luka’s fully erect length. Oh, it’s not the first time he’s seen it. They’ve traded a dirty snap or two, but as before, it’s not nearly the same as seeing it in person, as feeling the shaft in his hand.

Luka’s a bit bigger than the snaps suggest, hair perfectly trimmed around the base of his shaft. The mere sight is mesmerizing, and Søren has to will himself to stop staring and start working. Søren’s never been on the giving end of blowjobs- but how hard could it be?

He starts off slow- just the way that he’d like it himself, his tongue gently and teasingly starting from the underside of Luka’s cock, making its way up to the bottom of the head- where he knows it feels most pleasurable.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Luka’s enjoying it _damn well_. There’s a choked whine threatening to leave his lips, and Søren worries for a moment Luka will draw blood with the way he’s biting down on his lip.

Luka’s hands are shaking, trembling even as those fingers brush Søren’s hair, gently pulling him forward, to let him take in more of the length of the cock. It’s intoxicating and warm. Even if Søren’s never given a blowjob before, it apparently holds no merit.

“Do you like?” Søren asks this time, doing his best puppy eyes as he looks up at Luka’s eyes, letting his tongue flick its way from the base of the shaft to the head, and again, before taking the length in his mouth again.

“Yes,” Luka chokes out an answer, his fingers tugging at Søren’s strands again, pulling him downward, forward, until his entire length is submerged into Søren’s mouth.

It’s almost too much, but Søren resists gagging- it manages to fit in the end. His nose is met with the shaved patch of hair at the base of Luka’s cock, a familiar scent of musk enveloping his senses. It’s intoxicating, it’s beyond overwhelming. Everything about Luka, from the way his cock fits perfectly, to the sensation of skin against skin, to the masculine scent is overruling.

Søren pauses a split second, before running his hands down Luka’s thighs, feeling the lines of muscle from a boy who has tensed up from pleasure- and finally back up, Søren’s fingers tugging, fondling Luka’s balls, equally tense. There’s a thin layer of hair, but it’s hardly an issue, and when he palms at them- while sucking- Luka lets out a weighty moan.

He must be close.

Luka’s so damn sensitive that it’s almost ridiculous- it’s been a mere seven minutes, if Søren hasn’t counted incorrectly, since he’s started sucking, and he has to remove a hand from Søren’s hair to cover his mouth, effectively preventing any more sound from leaving his lips- the other hand tightly gripping Søren’s hair, so tight that it almost hurts, so tight that his knuckles are visibly turning white.

Even without the luxury of proper lighting, Søren can see, can _feel_ how flush Luka’s skin is, how dilated those pupils are, how weighty his moans are becoming.

“Søren… Søren,” he breaths, his head falling slack, leaning forward, slightly pulling back. Somewhere in between trying to find support and looking like he wants Søren to stop. His legs tremble with a remarkable lack of control, and he looks like he’s about to collapse at any moment.

Søren doesn’t stop- at least, not immediately, teasingly letting his lips glide back up the shaft, letting his tongue do the removal- and it’s almost too much for Luka. He then looks up, smirking. “Yeah?”

“I’m… I’m…” Luka says, barely in control. He’s so far gone, the way he says it, so helpless, so feeble, is much more of a turn on than it really should be. “I’m gonna come.”

It's enough to encourage Søren to take his full length back in, gagging slightly as Luka thrusts forward to hit the back of his throat. Søren gets points for effort for not choking when Luka does it again and he forces himself to relax, pausing a second to allow his throat to open up. A bit of saliva dribbles out of the corner of his mouth and Søren lets it slide down his chin in favor of swallowing down more of Luka in his mouth, if that’s even possible.

He realizes that Luka’s going to cum at any second, so he braces himself, freeing his hands from Luka’s balls and settling for holding Luka’s thighs in place. Søren bobs his head one more time, letting his tongue lash over the head of the boy’s cock, sucking with a certain fervor that he didn’t expect to bring.

It’s too much.

The trembling in Luka’s legs stop for a moment, before stuttering again, this time without pattern as he comes.

Søren’s taken by surprise by the sheer force and quantity, gagging when the first few spurts of come hits the back of his throat. Gasping, he forcefully removes Luka’s cock from his mouth, letting the rest of it splash against his chin, letting it dribble down his chest and on to the ceramic floor.

It looks disgusting, mortifying even, and when Luka opens his eyes, he looks embarrassed.

Comically wide-eyed, Luka mutters out a garbled apology, but doesn’t get much further than that when Søren stands back up to kiss him again. It’s sloppy, the taste of his own come still fresh on Søren’s lips and tongue, but he hardly minds it. He’s still shaking a little, dazed from the force of the orgasm, but nonetheless manages to collect himself to some degree when they embrace, feeling every little detail- from the beat of Søren’s heart against his, to the way those lips apply pressure.

He’d never want to trade this.

Søren wipes the bottom of his chin and lips with the back of his hand, but besides that, isn’t concerned about the mess on his chest or the floor- that can wait. He kisses Luka again, switching positions so that he’s back to where he was at the start- against the door of the stall.

Luka is two steps ahead of him, already poking his nose and lips against the fabric of his track pants. Søren’s been hard so for long, it almost hurts. His underwear feels uncomfortably tight, wet with pre-come, yearning freedom.

His knees are wobbly still, but he manages to get on his knees, dutifully removing the track pants and when Søren’s hands join his- removing the briefs altogether.

There’s a slight chill in the air, and Luka isn’t quite sure if it’s from being overly-sensitive after coming, or if it’s because the air-con has suddenly been turned on. He doesn’t flinch when Søren takes his cock out, obscenely hard, dripping with pre-come.

Without warning, Luka takes Søren’s dick into his mouth.

Luka’s mouth is warm, wet, and perfect. It takes an incredible amount of self-control to not thrust forward, to start mouth fucking when Luka’s mouth takes in the entire length.

Faintly at the back of his mind, Søren remembers wondering how much experience both of them had in this. He’s never given a blowjob before- that much he knew. Now that it’s Luka’s turn, the thought finds its way into his mind again.

But as it quickly becomes obvious, this is _far_ from Luka’s first time giving a blowjob.

 

July 2nd, 2017

It’s a couple of days before the tournament begins- a day before NA proves their dominance over EU. Well, to be fair, no one’s really going to put in particularly significant effort for the tournament. The fact that Søren is at the LCS studio is a testament to that.

Truth be told, he’s never set foot in the new EU LCS studio- His tenure on Copenhagen Wolves feels like several lifetimes ago, as does his life in Europe, if he’s to be honest. Søren’s to meet Luka in a couple minutes, but he’s already late to arrive.

Surely a couple minutes of solo exploration wouldn’t hurt- Luka has seen all of the studio after all, and this is entirely for himself. He stands outside, impatiently tapping his foot against the concrete while absentmindedly checking his phone for any notification. Last text had Luka on his way- although how long exactly, Søren doesn’t know.

The seconds become minutes- and he hasn’t realized that he’s lost focus, staring at the screen of his phone, scrolling through Reddit. There, he finds a top threat that he hadn’t been expecting. Or at least, it wasn’t at the forefront of his mind- but it makes sense now.

It all makes sense.

 

_Krepo stepping down from EU LCS for the foreseeable future_

_This post was submitted today._

Søren can feel his chest tighten at the sight. It’s been a couple weeks since the incident aired- hitting the top of Reddit in hours. It doesn’t concern him- at least not directly, so he hadn’t thought much about it, or so he thought. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he does wonder where Krepo is now- and the identity of the person who leaked everything.

It’s scary. Nervewracking- to realize that safety could be no more than an illusion. Part of Søren understands that- what the ramifications of such an action could be. There’s a shadow of doubt that lingers- of course, he doesn’t use his public snap with Luka, and neither does Luka. But is it enough? What else can happen? To think more about it is frightening.

It’s so ironic, it’s almost humorous. Why does it feel so similar?

Why?

It’s quite empty, only a couple people around, no loud footsteps. None at least, until now. Søren turns his head left, and catches sight of something that he wasn’t expecting. Logic doesn’t allow it- but it happens nonetheless.

It’s the very same man he just read about. It’s Krepo.

His face is partially concealed- whatever reason he’s here for, it’s evident that he doesn’t want to be identified- something that Søren fully understands. His steps are careful- almost too much. Truth be told, he probably wasn’t expecting that there would be someone at the LCS studio today. At least, not like this.

How wrong he was.

Søren doesn’t move, only watching in silence and slight stupor. In doing so, he’s caught the man’s attention. His steps slow, and then finally come to a brief stop when their eyes meet. Søren’s shocked by what he finds. Not because he wasn’t expecting it, but because he wasn’t expecting the emotions that he feels from seeing those eyes.

Fear? Irony? Sadness? Pity? How does he word it? Søren opens his mouth, as if meaning to speak, but no sound comes out. Just like last time, but when the man catches sight of it, he turns away wordlessly. This is just like before, Søren realizes. He cannot fathom _why_ it is that Krepo is here, but nonetheless, he wants to say something.

“H…Hey, Krepo,” he finally manages, reaching out a hand, stopping short of actually making physical contact.

The man hesitates for a split second, somewhere in between making a run for it and debating to stay, before finally relenting- he turns around, his eyes evidently mired with regret.

“Yes?” He asks, voice shaky.

Søren pauses, carefully considering his next words. He realizes that it’s mostly inconsequential, for the damage is done, and anything he says is merely a consolation and of no impact. But he also realizes that he wishes that someone said something in his place when he was the one under fire.

Just over half a year ago.

“I… I just… I’m sorry for everything that’s happened,” he begins, awkwardly readjusting his glasses. “I just wanted to say it wasn’t your fault.”

Although the frown doesn’t recede from Krepo’s face, he nonetheless relents, nodding in earnest at those words. “Thanks… but I think I need time off… You saw, didn’t you?” He asks, glancing at the phone that Søren still has clutched in his hand.

“Just now, yeah,” Søren replies, tucking his phone away at the mention. “I mean listen, I didn’t see anything… of that sort,” he says again, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s okay,” the man replies. “Just… Thank you. It does help.”

To which Søren nods, smiling awkwardly when the ex-caster bids him farewell. Krepo takes a couple steps forward, before pausing again to look over his shoulder. There’s still lingering sadness in his eyes, as is expected, but there’s something new.

Something that Søren hadn’t expected.

“By the way…” He begins, tone grave. “Watch yourself. This person… She’s dangerous. She knows more than you might think,” he says.

And just like that, he disappears.

Leaving Søren with much to think about.

And much to remember.

 

July 5th, 2017

TSM take the first game vs G2 in convincing fashion, scoring NA’s first victory over EU. It’s not a very serious tournament, so the victory isn’t as thirst-quenching is it normally would be, but a win is a win. Søren certainly isn’t complaining.

There isn’t even a need for a post-game analysis; frankly no one cares, and no one has reason to. Søren looks around, finding Peter on his phone, most like texting Bonnie. Vincent is shyly watching, going between browsing Reddit and peeking over at everyone else while Dennis and Kevin are chatting away about something, probably making plans to hit the gym after their next match, vs UoL.

Søren smiles at that, thinking of texting Luka. They haven’t seen each other in the past three days, and he’s had a lot to think about. Their hookup, their “date” at the LCS studio… and Krepo’s brooding words. Of what exactly did he mean by “she” being dangerous?” Questions like these are the ones that keep him up at night.

Part of him wonders if Luka knows anything about it- he now regrets not having asked Luka in person the last time they met. Biting his tongue, he pauses his train of thought for a moment to imagine the face of a woman who could have done this.

Suddenly, his phone lights up with a soft buzz- and he takes a peek.

 

Luka Perković (Just now): Fun game?

 

Part of Søren is relieved to see that Luka isn’t feeling down about the loss. Even though it is just Rift Rivals, with no real implications, a win is a win, and a loss is a loss. Smiling, he excitedly presses against the chat bubble and excitedly types back.

 

Søren Bjerg (Just now): Haha, guess you could say that. Do you have a moment for a chat after the rest of our games?

Luka Perkovic (Just now): Sure

 

G2 takes a consolation victory over C9, and TSM beat out UoL, leaving G2 at 1-1 and TSM at 2-0 after the first day. But that’s not what’s on either Luka nor Søren’s minds right now. The moment they return to the scrim room, Søren’s on his phone already, his eyes widening when Luka’s already left him a message.

 

Luka Perkovic (2 minutes ago): Now’s good?

 

Another wry smile makes it way to his lips, and Søren excuses himself, barely hearing that he has to be back in a few hours. He tiptoes his way over to the G2 scrim room, and to his pleasant surprise, Luka’s already waiting for him.

There’s the familiar sensation of heat entering his cheeks when he peers at Luka’s smirk. Søren can’t deny the persistent sexual tension that lingers- how can there not be after everything that’s happened? Nonetheless, he steadies himself and nods, gesturing towards outside the building.

 

“Good first day, huh?” Luka murmurs, nonchalantly walking in the direction that leads towards the streets of food.

“I guess you could say that,” Søren nods, dryly laughing when Luka playfully shoves at him. “Wasn’t so hard laning against you,” he adds, clicking his tongue.

“Fuck you,” Luka laughs back, and they continue walking in comfortable silence, until they reach the closest sit-down restaurant they can find and agree on.

It’s a little small, but cozy nonetheless. The sun is still up, even if it’s almost 7 PM local time. They have the rest of the night off, even if curfew dictates they be back in a few hours. Surely an hour or two out isn’t a crime.

There’s a teasing comment here and there, but both know that there isn’t time to do anything. At least, anything extreme. Nonetheless, the food is quickly cleared off the plates and to Søren’s chagrin, Luka snatches the bill.

It’s getting late now, but the streets are still somewhat busy. Busy enough that “alone” doesn’t exist. The hotel is definitely within walking distance, even if on the farther end of the spectrum, and so they both agree to spend the rest of the night together like this.

It’s Luka who breaks the silence first.

“You know, Søren, we never really talked about… Well, about last time,” he finally speaks, hands in his pockets, gaze dutifully averted to the cracks in the pavement. It’s not what Søren had been expecting for sure. Frankly, he isn’t even entirely certain _what_ it is that Luka is speaking of. He gazes in the direction of the G2 midlaner, confusion plastered all over his face.

“I meant, back in Brazil,” Luka says again. “I mean, I know. I know we already…” he cuts off, his face blushing crimson at the thought. “I was talking about… you know. What happened at the club. With you and I. With… With _her_.”

_Her._

Right.

That mystery woman. The one who denounced them at the club. The one who Søren faintly remembers had chatted up Luka just as Søren stepped into the washroom. Who was she? What does she know? How does Luka know her? He had assumed she was just hitting on him- a lethal beauty in search of someone to satisfy her for the night.

But now that he thinks about it, he and Luka haven’t spoken about it- and now he realizes that he _really_ should have.

Then there’s them. He and Luka. He remembers how he left Luka in the back alleyway. He remembers how much he enjoyed the feeling of Luka against him, the boy’s relentless pressure and passionate kiss. Their first kiss.

And yet, he’s avoided talking about it. Why he left so hastily.

_Why._

“Oh,” Søren finally manages, readjusting his glasses at the awkward comment.

Luka pauses his steps- causing a pang of worry to echo through Søren’s core. He turns to face the Croat, who now wears an expression that Søren simply cannot decode, cannot comprehend. A million emotions, a million intentions.

“Listen… Søren…” He starts. “I know… I know that… this… us. I mean, we’re just… friends who’ve met a couple times. Just… rivals… Friends and rivals with benefits,” He stutters, laughing nervously. “If we can even call it that.”

 

 

 

Slowly, Søren nods, one part impatience and one part understanding. For a brief moment he pauses to open his mouth- trying to disagree with Luka’ words. Yet in an instant he realizes it’s best to stay silent. Luka’s not done speaking.

“Maybe it’s wrong of me to tell you,” he continues, solemn. “But… She… She’s someone who I’ve seen around. She’s part of the European scene. I don’t know her personally, but…”

Time seems to slow to a crawl.

“But…?” Søren inquires.

“I don’t… I don’t know how much, or what she knows,” Luka blinks, staring at the ground, feet unsteady. “I don’t know why she’s here. I don’t know what she’s up to,” he shakes his head.

It sounds ridiculous. Perhaps it objectively should be. She’s a random. What power could she possibly have? Søren ponders at that, then wonders if that’s true. She does know something. He vividly remembers her treatment of them at the club, mere months ago.

There’s a part of him that sees a different face.

What would _she_ think of him?

Back in Denmark, in what would be the comfort of his home. What would _she_ think?

So he stays silent, at a loss for words against the background of a sunset, on lonely, empty pavement. It’s strangely relaxing.

“I like you Søren,” Luka finally murmurs. “I do. So… Stay close okay?” He smiles. “I don’t know what she knows but… I’m not going… I’m not going to let it stop me.”

The silence almost feels stifling again, but there’s also a newfound element of comfort in it. A comforting silence. He doesn’t need words to convey how he feels. So Søren just settles for pulling Luka into one of the more dimly lit corners of the street.

He hugs the boy tightly, letting his fingers drift into the Croat’s hair, before settling for a quick, chaste kiss. It feels good, it feels right.

"I like you too Luka," Søren smiles, kissing him again.

And for the first time, he feels at ease with this.

 

 

 

 


End file.
